


The Audacious Actor

by VillainousFunctioningDude (HolmesArtemis8)



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: AU, Amended Schism au, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I’ll add more - Freeform, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, OOC, Sexual Tension, Underage Sex, i explain why tho, olaf is ooc, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-02-26 00:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesArtemis8/pseuds/VillainousFunctioningDude
Summary: In a world where the Schism between volunteers occurred but was resolved quickly and amicably, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire’s parents are killed in a gas fire in their own home. While the children wait for their new guardian Dr. Montgomery Montgomery to return from a herpetology trip in the jungles of India, Mr. Poe takes the children to the theatre to ease their minds. There, from the moment the curtain rises, Violet is enthralled with a dark and mysterious actor. She finds reasons to see the man who calls himself Count Olaf, whether it be from the audience or up close masquerading as an adoring fan.On the opening night of his homecoming performance, Count Olaf nearly forgets his lines when he sees an enraptured girl on the front row. Her face is so familiar, yet he cannot recall her name. The more he runs into her, however, he finds himself to be obsessed with the girl.





	1. An Altruistic Amusement

**Author's Note:**

> "Audacious" is a word here meaning "taking great risks without care for the consequences." The actor in question does not, in fact, care for the consequences as he takes great risks. Therefore, he is aptly described as being "audacious."

“Now, Baudelaires, I trust that your parents taught you proper theatre etiquette,” Mr. Poe chirped from the driver’s seat of his car. “‘Etiquette’ means—“

“—Manners. Yes, we know what it means,” Klaus replied flatly. He adjusted his pressed tie and glanced to his older sister.

“Mother and Father always took us to see operas. Mother was often in them,” Violet added.

“Foofen!” Sunny babbled, which roughly translated to mean, “She had such a lovely voice when she sang lullabies.”

Violet’s lips turned upwards in a sad smile. “That’s right, Sunny. But you never got to hear her in an opera.” She gulped back the lump in her throat that threatened to push tears from her eyes.

“Well, anyway, I think I should remind you of some theatre etiquette: once we are inside, you shouldn’t leave at all. There’s no talking, commenting, whispering, or murmuring once the play has started,” Mr. Poe continued.

“Those are all close synonyms,” Klaus whispered to Violet, who nodded.

As Mr. Poe listed out several do’s and don’t’s, Violet tuned him out. She looked at her hands in her lap, which held her dark purple ribbon that her father gave her. She turned the strip over between her fingers and felt the ridges of the rough side. The pad of her thumb smoothed across the silky side of the ribbon, and she bit her lip to stifle a quiet sob.

“All right, children. We’re here!” Mr. Poe said as he parked the car on the street in front of the theatre. “Remember what I told you!”

Violet picked up Sunny from in between her and her brother. She stepped out of the nice car and onto the sidewalk. Violet threw her gaze upward to read the marquee above the entrance to the theatre. Flashing bulbs outlined the title of the play, “‘The Terrible Triumph’ by Al Funcoot.” Violet had never heard of the play or the playwright, nor had she ever heard Klaus talk about reading about it.

Mr. Poe locked his car once the three orphans were out of the car. He turned to the children, a bright smile plastered across his face. He observed that Violet, Klaus, and Sunny were not smiling with him. His expression fell.

“Oh, Baudelaires. I’m so sorry. I do wish there was some way I could bring your parents back. But this isn’t a fairy tale where wishes come true, unfortunately.” He sighed. “The fire was a truly horrific accident. But please try to at least forget about your sorrows for a little while during the play. I am trying to make the best of a bad situation, and I'm sure your new guardian Dr. Montgomery would want you to enjoy yourselves tonight.”

Klaus shot his gaze up to the banker. “Sir, with all due respect, how can we forget that we’re penniless orphans?”

Mr. Poe opened his mouth to answer, but rather ushered the children forward. “Let’s go pick up our tickets. Lucky for you children that I was able to get front row seats!”

Violet cast her eyes to the ground before her as she followed the man and led her siblings to the will call of the theatre. Mr. Poe picked up the tickets and passed them out to the Baudelaires.

It had been years since Violet had set foot into this theatre. When she started middle school, it had become more difficult to tear away from her studies and go see any shows. She took a playbill from an usher and made her way down to the front row and sat in her assigned seat in between Mr. Poe and Klaus.

The dull roar of the chattering patrons filled the theatre as more people came to fill the seats. The dim lights and the background noise was comforting to Violet, as that was something she recalled from the last time she went to see her mother in an opera.

After several minutes, Klaus leaned over to Violet and whispered, “Do you think it’ll be any good? The play?”

Violet looked at her brother. She shrugged. “I’ve never heard of anything by Al Funcoot. Have you?”

Klaus chewed his lips in thought. “I don’t remember. Perhaps it’s a pseudonym for a well-known playwright,” he suggested, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“Dabbo,” Sunny cooed from the other side of Klaus. She really meant, “I wish I had a carrot to bite, right now.”

Klaus looked back to his little sister. “I know, but not eating is a part of theatre etiquette.”

The lights overhead flashed dimly to signal the start of the show. Violet brought her attention to the red curtain that hid the stage from the audience. Once the audience hushed, the lights dimmed all the way to near darkness. The curtain rose slowly.

The stage light slowly faded on to reveal only two men onstage with a garden-type background behind them.

Violet stared at the two men: one was very big, and, despite the wig, Violet could tell he was bald underneath. The other man, however, made her heart seize in her throat. He was tall and thin, and his face was…unconventionally handsome. He had a unibrow that spread across the length of his forehead. He held his head high and his mouth was turned upward in a smirk. His broad shoulders were pushed back, his chest thrust out like some type of hero. He was new and unfamiliar, yet Violet was certain she had seen him somewhere before.

The first man spoke, but Violet barely comprehended what was said. She waited for the other man to speak. She had to know what his voice sounded like. The first man finished his line. The interesting actor turned to his audience and gazed out into the room theatrically. His eyes landed on Violet. Her heart stopped.

The actor’s smirk faltered slightly as Violet made eye contact with him. He opened his mouth to speak, yet no sound came out.

Violet scooted to the edge of her seat, her sight still fixed upon the actor she thought handsome.

The actor tore his gaze away from Violet and to the rest of the room. He opened his mouth again. “Yes, my good sir. The day is perfect for a heart to chase its desire,” he spoke his line.

Violet let out a breath she had not known she was holding. When the other man replied with his line, Violet took out her playbill and flipped to the cast pictures and biographies. Violet scanned the page until she found the small black-and-white photo that matched the handsome actor and read his name: Count Olaf.

 

Olaf prided himself on not getting nervous before a production. He knew he would be great, and he knew people would love his work. That was, after all, the reason he had been gone for seven years. He had done a worldwide tour of his many productions with his acting troupe, and each time he waited for his cue in the wings with impressive confidence.

Tonight, however, he felt the beating of his heart grow slowly faster in anxiety. This was his first performance back in his home city since returning from his world tour. Perhaps he was mistaking his anxiety for euphoria, as the prospect of looking out into the audience and seeing his volunteer peers made goosebumps prickle down his arms.

“House lights are down,” Olaf’s hook-handed colleague muttered backstage for the actors. Olaf adjusted his costume and smoothed his hair back. He ran his first line over and over again in his mind.

“Boss!” A whisper came behind Olaf, and he spun around. The hook-handed man was smiling at him. “Break a leg tonight!” He lifted his hooks as if to give Olaf a thumbs-up.

Olaf grinned in return and faced back to the stage. He saw the curtain draw up and the stage lights fade in. He stepped onto the stage with another of his colleagues.

The other actor launched into his opening mini-monologue once the spotlights found both of them. As part of the script, Olaf slowly gazed out into the audience, which was supposed to be the countryside in the story. Olaf inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as the theatre was nearly full.

Olaf let his gaze drift down to the front row, where he locked eyes with a girl who looked to be no more than 13 or 14. Her intensity phased him, and he could only think about her; her countenance felt extremely melancholy (a word that he had heard in place of ‘sad’ so he figured that must have been its definition). Her soft features held shadows of grief, yet, as she continued to stare at Olaf, he noticed that her sadness fell away slowly.

She looked so very familiar, yet he could not place who she was.

With a jolt, Olaf realized that the actor opposite of him had finished the opening line. Olaf panicked slightly, as he had completely blanked on his own line.

He suddenly remembered. He cleared his throat in-character and recited, “Yes, my good sir. The day is perfect for a heart to chase its desire.”

For the rest of the evening, to his dismay, he performed the rest of his show with half the intensity he intended, as he was drawn again and again to the girl on the front row. She watched him in such an innocent way that he found himself glancing at her for her approval. When a funny line was said, he looked to see if she laughed, and she did. When something was sad, he gauged her reaction. By the time he said his final line, he imagined as if she was the only person for which he was performing.

At the curtain call, as the curtain descended, he finally recalled who the girl looked like: she was the spitting image of Beatrice Baudelaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own “A Series of Unfortunate Events.” The ASOUE universe belongs solely to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> Questions? Kudos? Comments? Throw em down there!


	2. The Rousing Recollection

Violet awoke with a start. Her sweaty hands gripped the sheets. A nightmare had surged through her REM sleep, and she was near tears.

Violet jumped out of bed and quickly dashed to her door, her heart still pounding from the night terror. She cracked open the door and put her ear against the opening: talking and laughing came from the downstairs living area. Violet sighed, knowing that she might be scolded for being up that late. Her parents had thrown a grown-up party that she and six-year-old Klaus were not allowed to attend. She had been disappointed when she first heard that. She was eight and she felt as though she was old enough to be with grown-ups. It had irked her until she fell asleep.

Violet carefully weighed her options. She desperately wanted comfort from her parents, and she did want a glass of water, but she would get in trouble.

She opened the door and decided to go downstairs. As she stepped out into the dark upstairs hallway, a grown-up nearly ran into her and she stumbled.

“Oh!” the man cried, stepping back in shock.

Violet looked up to the towering man above her. Though it was dark, she could still see that the man had a distinct unibrow.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Violet apologized as she looked down at her chilly feet on the hard floor.

The man chuckled. “I’m the one who should be sorry! I need to watch where I’m going in case I accidentally trample a young woman like you.”

Violet grinned slightly at the man’s jesting.

“I suppose you must be the famous Miss Violet Baudelaire,” the man said. “The clever inventor of the Baudelaires as Beatrice and Bertrand says.”

Violet looked up to the man at the mention of her name. “I am, sir,” she replied.

The man smiled and took a knee. “Well, Miss Violet, it is a wonderful pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I am Count Olaf.” The man gave his arm a dramatic flourish as he took Violet’s hand and bowed at the waist. He glanced up. “You know what a ‘count’ is, don’t you?”

Violet nodded. “Yes, of course, sir.”

“Smart girl,” Count Olaf commented. “But, I must ask: what is a smart girl like you doing up at this hour?” He gave Violet a fake scandalized expression. “You’re not sneaking, are you?”

Violet straightened herself. “Oh, no, sir. I’m not sneaking!”

Count Olaf raised one side of his brow.

“I had a nightmare,” Violet mumbled. “And I needed a glass of water.”

“Say no more, Violet Baudelaire,” Count Olaf said as he stood tall again. “For I am your knight in shining armor. I will get you a glass of water if it is the last thing I do.” Count Olaf took off downstairs before Violet could protest.

As she watched his descending figure, Violet smiled. Normally, her parents’ friends were rather boring and only talked about spyglasses or fire departments; this man was interesting and lively. There was, however, something dark about Count Olaf that Violet could not identify. She was not scared of whatever it was. He reminded her of a geyser pool, which was something Klaus had recently been reading about: the deeper geyser pools get, the more brilliant their colors become.

Violet padded to the staircase and sat on the top step. She pulled her knees to her chest underneath her long nightgown to keep herself warm. Violet watched for Count Olaf, and she saw the silhouettes of many of her parents’ friends cast on the floor from the parlor. The muffled cocktail chatter was soothing to her, as it reinforced to her that there were people in the house with her.

Finally, Count Olaf made his way from the party to the stairs and began to ascend with a glass of water in hand. He caught Violet’s eye on the way up and smiled brightly. When he got close enough, he stopped and held out the glass for Violet to take.

“The spoils of war for one Miss Violet Baudelaire,” Count Olaf said dramatically.

Violet laughed and took the glass. “Thank you, my good sir,” she replied in his same manner of humor. She took a sip. “Will you sit with me for a little while?”

Count Olaf gave a conciliatory grin. “I’m afraid I cannot. I must leave soon so that I will get up early. I’m leaving with my acting troupe on a European tour tomorrow morning,” he replied.

Violet sat up. “You’re an actor?” she asked excitedly.

Count Olaf’s chest puffed out a bit. “I’m more than an actor—I’m an impresario.”

For once, Violet did not know what the word meant. Count Olaf picked up on this. “An impresario is someone who also arranges productions and directs plays.”

“Will you be doing a show here?” Violet asked.

“At the end of my tour, unfortunately for you. You won’t get to see my tremendous talent. You’ll have to wait,” Count Olaf said with a smirk.

“Thank you for the water,” Violet said again.

Count Olaf smiled genuinely. “Of course, Violet. Good night.” He turned and went back downstairs again.

Violet stood, her water still in hand. When Count Olaf reached the ground level, he gazed back up to Violet and gave a small bow. Violet giggled quietly and waved at him. He disappeared back into the party crowd, and Violet spun around to return to bed.

As Violet finished her water and tucked herself back into bed, her mind drifted to Count Olaf. He was rather dashing and came off as the type of man who absolutely would be an actor. She was sad that she wouldn’t be able to see him again anytime soon, but, as Violet’s eyes fluttered closed in sleep, she wondered if she would ever have the privilege of watching him perform.

 

Upon the return of this distant memory, Violet’s eyes shot open. She had met Count Olaf before, but only once.

Violet looked over to her sleeping brother, who, along with herself, was on the floor since Mr. Poe’s sons didn’t wish to share their beds.

“Klaus!” she whispered. She rolled over and began to shake his arm gently. “Klaus!” she hissed again.

Klaus groggily opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. He slapped the floor beside him to feel for his glasses. He found them and put them on.

“Count Olaf from the play tonight,” Violet started.

“What about him?”

Violet smiled in the dark. “He knew our parents!”

Klaus cocked his head. “Really?”

Violet nodded. “Yes! I remember meeting him at one of their parties years ago!”

Klaus’ brow furrowed in thought. “You’d think our parents would have told us if they knew an actor famous enough to do a tour,” Klaus responded. “I read in the playbill that he just finished a European tour of his play.”

“Do you think Mr. Poe would let us go back tomorrow to see Count Olaf?” Violet asked her brother.

“I don’t know,” he said. “He might not want to pay for more tickets, and we can’t really pay for anymore.”

“No.” Violet shook her head. “Just to go backstage and find him and talk to him. No money involved.”

Klaus sighed. “Maybe. We’ll have to make it clear that he won’t have to pay for anything.”

Violet smiled. “Sounds fair.” She and her brother both settled back down into their pillows and went back to sleep.

 

As Olaf read over his lines once more for his performance that evening, his concentration kept breaking as he remembered Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire. He recalled the petty schism that had threatened his relationships with every one of his friends but had also cost him his engagement. Those were bitter memories that Olaf tried to drown with a fine wine or robust whiskey.

As he nursed his glass of wine that afternoon, his heart grew heavy. He had just recently heard from European volunteers that the Baudelaire couple had perished in a pointless and preventable (and possibly ironic) house fire. Olaf wondered what would become of the Baudelaire children.

As for where the children were, he was certain that he had seen the Baudelaire daughter at one of his inaugural nights in that theatre. If it was indeed Violet, he had to marvel at how she had grown to look so much like her mother (who was beautiful in her own right, as Olaf had always thought). There were hardly any residual traits of Bertrand’s.

Olaf smirked. He had always figured that Beatrice’s eldest child was the product of a final dalliance between her and the enigmatic, insufferable Lemony Snicket. Of course, Olaf had no way to prove his theory, but he prided himself on being able to detect and sometimes attract impropriety.

A knock on his dressing room door interrupted his thoughts. “Enter,” he shouted, looking up from the script he wasn’t really reading anymore.

A fumbling clacking sound scratched at the doorknob and the door flung open. The hook-handed man stood in the doorway, grinning ear to ear.

“You have some fans who want your autograph, boss!” the hook-handed man said.

Olaf perked up and stood. “Where?”

“I told them to wait for you in the lobby. That all right?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Olaf replied. He looked in the mirror to examine himself. He shed his dressing gown and threw on some real trousers that he hoped were clean. He smoothed out his shirt and followed his colleague to the theatre lobby.

Standing alone in the middle of the grand space were a boy and a girl. The boy held the hand of a tiny baby who looked as though she were just learning to stand on her own. At the sight of the girl, Olaf’s eyes widened. Could she be the same girl he saw on the front row the night before?

Olaf clapped his hands together. “Hello, hello, hello, young theatre-goers!” he called to the children. They spun around to face Olaf as he approached them. It indeed was the same girl, though, upon closer inspection, he became more uncertain about whether or not she was Beatrice’s daughter. “I heard you were looking for me.” Olaf smirked and held out his hand in front of the children for either of them to take. The boy accepted. “Count Olaf, impresario.”

“My name is Klaus.” The boy turned to look at the girl. “We were wondering if we could get an autograph and maybe speak with you.”

Olaf chuckled. “Well, you’re halfway through with what you came for: we’re already speaking.” Olaf winked and produced a pen and playbill from his pocket. He began to write a message on the front. “Did you see the play last night?” he asked without looking up.

“Oh, yes. We did. It was rather enjoyable,” Klaus replied.

“Bahtoo,” the baby babbled.

The girl spoke up. “What Sunny means is that even though the plot had been done before, the execution of the story and the characterization of the protagonists were exemplary.”

Olaf paused for a moment and eyed the baby known as Sunny. He gestured his pen towards her. “Aspiring theatre critic, is she?”

The girl shrugged, giving a hint of a smile. “She knows what she likes.”

Olaf drew his attention back to the playbill. “So, I know Klaus.” He pointed the pen at Klaus. “I know Sunny, but I’m afraid I don’t have your name, my dear.” Olaf looked at the girl and grinned.

“My name is Violet,” she said. “Violet Baudelaire.”

So he was right. Olaf swallowed, his expression going blank. “Baudelaire?” he repeated.

“Yes, sir,” Klaus said. “And we think you knew our parents.”

Olaf nodded slightly. “And what were their names?”

“Bertrand and Beatrice,” Violet replied.

Before Olaf could even respond, a man burst through the lobby doors. The man removed his hat and opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, horrendous coughing spewed from him.

When the fit was over, he sniffed and spoke: “Children, it’s time to go. I believe you have taken enough of this gentleman’s time. Arthur Poe,” he introduced. Olaf replied with his name. Mr. Poe nodded once and smiled politely at Olaf. “He was kind enough to give you an autograph for free!” Mr. Poe’s face suddenly morphed from politeness to slight fear. “It is free, isn’t it?”

Olaf glanced to the children and then back to Mr. Poe. “Yes, of course it is!” Olaf scribbled quickly onto the playbill and then handed it to the Baudelaires. “I was just finishing their autograph.”

Violet and Klaus glanced at each other, disappointed.

Mr. Poe beamed. “Wonderful!” He let out a single cough. “Now, thank him for being so kind and generous to you orphans.”

“Thank you for giving us your autograph, Count Olaf,” Violet said mechanically.

Olaf lifted one side of his brow. He winked at the siblings. His face suddenly twisted in concern. “Orphans?” he asked Mr. Poe.

Mr. Poe’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes. It was terribly tragic. Their parents died in a fire that destroyed their home. Tell him, Baudelaires.”

Klaus wrinkled his nose. “Our parents died in a fire that destroyed our home,” he said.

Mr. Poe sighed wistfully. “Isn’t that just unfortunate?”

Olaf nodded. “It is! So unfortunate, in fact, that my troupe and I would like to treat these orphans to a special preview of our new play with a discussion afterwards!” Olaf nodded towards the Baudelaires, who perked up.

“Really! Isn’t that something, children! I knew your lives couldn’t continue to be a downward spiral!” Mr. Poe elated.

“Yes, that would be wonderful!” Violet said. “We could talk about all sorts of things, couldn’t we, Count Olaf?”

He nodded. “Anything you like. Even your parents, if you wished,” Olaf replied.

Klaus turned to Mr. Poe. “Could we do it tomorrow?”

Mr. Poe laughed modestly. “I’m sure Mr. Olaf here has a show tomorrow night.”

“Actually,” Klaus interrupted. “Theatres are dark on Mondays. Dark means—“

“—Having no light, but, in this context, it means that nothing is performed or staged,” Violet finished, her eyes meeting Olaf's gaze. Impressed, he cocked one side of his brow and mouthed, "Clever orphan."

“Well, then, I suppose if it’s all right with Mr. Olaf—"

“Tomorrow night it is!” Olaf exclaimed. “Would 6:00 be suitable?”

Mr. Poe cringed and sucked in air through his teeth. “Oh, dear. Unfortunately, 6:00 is when my family eats dinner. I’m afraid I would be unable to transport the orphans here.”

“The orphans can take a taxi. We’re in a safe area and the theatre isn’t too far from your home, Mr. Poe,” Violet interjected. “We’ll be all right.”

“Then I suppose it’s settled. Tomorrow night at 6:00, we shall entertain the Baudelaire orphans,” Olaf said with a bow.

Mr. Poe ushered the Baudelaire children to the lobby entrance to leave. As they left, Violet turned back and smiled at Olaf. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

Once again, Olaf winked and bowed his head towards her. When they were all outside, Olaf turned back to head to his dressing room again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "A Series of Unfortunate Events." The ASOUE universe belongs solely to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> Please, please, pretty please leave a kudos and a comment or two below!


	3. The Delightful Dinner

On their way back to Mr. Poe’s home, Violet clutched the playbill in her hands as if it would be suddenly snatched away. Her heart did somersaults in her chest as she recalled how Count Olaf had called her clever. This man who so intrigued her had complimented her intellect, her one trait that she deemed most important. It was over something silly, but he had nevertheless called her a clever girl.

As she tried to ignore Mr. Poe’s incessantly cheerful chatter and intermittant coughing, Violet analyzed her first meeting with Count Olaf all those years ago. What was it about him that fascinated her? On the surface, he was an outgoing open book. Yet Violet knew there was more to him. He had a glint in his eye when he smirked that signalled a complex darkness. He was like a campfire whose flames grew dangerously big to the point where people around the fire started to get concerned. He was the eye of a hurricane.

Violet finally looked down at the playbill in her hands. She hadn’t read the note Count Olaf wrote for them. She examined his handwriting: it was practiced and legible, but it was also loopy and languid. She read the note: ‘To my young fans, Klaus, Sunny, and Violet: it was a pleasure to meet you, again. Until our next meeting, Count Olaf.’ There was a small postscript that Violet had to squint to read.

‘I hope you are still the little inventor as you were when we first met.’

Violet swallowed and her heart soared. He remembered that night in the hallway. He at least remembered a bit of their conversation, and that comforted her. Someone from her past was still around other than her siblings. True, she had only spoken with him that once, but she had always felt he was there in her corner, a welcome connection to her past life.

When they arrived at Mr. Poe’s house, they quickly ate their dinner alongside the Poe family. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny never spoke about their encounter with Count Olaf at the table beyond the surface motive.

“What a wonderful few days you children have had at the theatre!” Mr. Poe enthused. “Perhaps when your new guardian Dr. Montgomery returns from his travels, he’ll be able to take you children to the theatre very often.”

At that suggestion, Violet smiled. She would definitely enjoy going to see more of Count Olaf’s shows.

“So, Baudelaires, tell us what it was like to meet such an accomplished actor!” Mrs. Poe said as she dished spinach onto the orphans’ plate. Sunny frowned at the mushy vegetable, but Mrs. Poe took no notice to the infant’s desire to gnaw at something hard.

Violet and Klaus glanced at each other. “Well,” Klaus started. “He was very nice. He signed a playbill for us.”

“Boring,” Edgar Poe stated as he stabbed at his steak. Mr. and Mrs. Poe sent him a slightly stern look.

Mrs. Poe turned to Violet. “What did you think, Violet?”

Violet placed her fork down. “Like Klaus said, he was very kind. He was attentive to his fans. It was interesting.” She picked up her glass of water and sipped.

Mrs. Poe smiled coyly at Violet. “Was he very handsome?”

Violet choked on her water at the question, coughing and sputtering as water went everywhere. Klaus offered her a napkin at patted her on the back.

Edgar looked at his brother Albert as they snickered to each other. Klaus glared at them for a brief moment.

“I think that means he was,” Mrs. Poe said as she continued eating.

Violet caught her breath. “I didn’t think about that at all,” she lied. “Your question just caught me off-guard.”

Mrs. Poe nodded, her expression showing that she did not really believe Violet. “Well, I’m only saying that it’s natural for a young girl like you to have little crushes.”

Violet glanced to Klaus, both of them turning very red.

“Jappo,” Sunny babbled, meaning, “I’m glad I don’t have to worry about stuff like that right now.”

Violet found that she could not eat anything else due to such embarrassment that she asked to be excused. She cleaned off her plate in the kitchen and went on to Edgar and Albert’s room to get ready for bed.

She was only embarrassed because Mrs. Poe was right: she did find Count Olaf attractive. She felt utterly and completely stupid: she had met the man all of twice, but now she had an elementary crush on him. Violet sighed as she changed into her nightgown. She never imagined she would ever have a crush on anyone, but she didn’t hate it.

Count Olaf had been the first person outside of her family and her teachers to call her ‘clever.’ He had told her—well, mouthed to her—that she was clever. That only made her want to truly impress him with her smarts even more. Her parents had already told him that she was an inventor; she wanted to show him just how smart she really was.

As Violet watched her actions in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth, she moved from pondering upon Count Olaf’s praise to his looks and mannerisms. He was definitely handsome in an unorthodox way. Generally, a unibrow would not look good on anyone, but that was his defining feature, and Violet thought it suited him rather well. He was tall and thin, and his salt-and-pepper hair was styled in such a way that it reminded Violet of wild flames from a campfire. Indeed, he was pleasant for Violet to remember, and even more pleasant to look at.

Violet settled down onto her sleeping spot on the floor and brought her blanket up to her chest. She was decidedly very excited for tomorrow night when she could interact with Count Olaf again.

 

Olaf placed his freshly bought groceries (which only included some bread and lunchmeat for sandwiches) into his open fridge. He took out two slices of bread and a piece of ham and slapped it together: that was his dinner for the evening. He took his sandwich and flopped down onto his sofa.

He glanced around his apartment; he wished that he had bought that big, old house with the tower seven years ago when he had the chance. A large house would have been much more comfortable to lounge around in, but he supposed that an apartment was better than having no home at all, much like the Baudelaire orphans.

Olaf took a large bite of his sandwich distractedly. His meeting those three children was something he could not take his mind off of. They reminded him strongly of Beatrice and Bertrand. Klaus, unlike Violet as he had previously mused, looked almost exactly like Bertrand Baudelaire. The glasses and the sharp wardrobe was what did it. Klaus had an air about him that made Olaf wonder if he was simply going to recite the encyclopedia right then and there. Olaf grinned: that’s exactly the type of vibe that Bertrand had.

Sunny was certainly an odd baby. She was too young to have any real personality, but from what Olaf could tell, she was going to be a sharp kid one day and a formidable force to be reckoned with.

But Violet. She was Olaf’s favorite. She was clever, and, as he truly believed, the smartest of the three children. Her parents had told him that she was an inventor: he longed for proof that she was. He hoped that one day he would be able to see one of her machines. If all went well tomorrow night, maybe one day he would.

Though he knew it was highly inappropriate for him to think so, he genuinely thought Violet to be a very pretty young woman. Even though she was only 14, she possessed a type of maturity that radiated out onto her countenance. Her sweet face showed only practicality. She carried herself with poise and grace. Olaf had met many adoring fans during his tour, some as young as Violet; he thought them all silly and impulsive. Violet, however, was neither of those things, and she showed it. She was a curious, wide-eyed teenage girl, and for that, Olaf admired her.

Olaf finished his sandwich and stretched as he settled deeper into the sofa. His heart thudded in his chest, as he truly could not wait to speak with Violet again the next day.

 

The next day, Violet found it very difficult to wait patiently for Count Olaf’s dinner that night. Of course, she did not share her feelings of impatience with Klaus. He might deduce that she actually kind of liked Olaf that way.

Because Mr. Poe could not take off anymore work to stay with the Baudelaires during the day, he had them tag along with him to Mulctuary Money Management. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny were instructed not to touch anything except for the coffee and doughnuts at reception, which they could help themselves if they so wished. The three orphans had gone to reception to get the treats, but the coffee was stale and watery while the doughnuts were dry and flavorless. The children were bored out of their minds: there was nothing for Violet to tinker with, there was nothing for Klaus to read, and there was nothing for Sunny to bite (she had tried to bite the chairs in which they were sitting, but she got a stern talking-to from Mr. Poe, who could hardly get any words out for coughing so bad).

“How do you think Count Olaf knows our parents?” Klaus asked Violet. It was still an hour and a half away from their dinner, but Mr. Poe and the Baudelaires were preparing to leave the bank.

Violet stood from the bench where they had decided to sit for hours outside of Mr. Poe’s office. “Well,” she said. “I know that he was invited to the parties that Mother and Father held.”

Klaus chuckled and picked up Sunny, who was gnawing at a paperweight they had found. “Oh, those parties that they never let us see?”

“Yeah, those.” Violet smiled.

“What do you think went on? I mean, they had so many. There was a party at least once a month.” Klaus handed Sunny to Violet.

“I’m not sure, but whatever they were doing, they were adamant that it wasn’t meant for children,” Violet explained.

The children stood in silence for a while. Every now and then, they glanced at Mr. Poe’s closed door. Violet huffed impatiently; she did not want to be late for this dinner. It was an opportunity to find out more about their parents, but it was also another opportunity to speak with Count Olaf. Her heart flipped at the thought of him.

“Do you think our new guardian Dr. Montgomery went to those parties?” Klaus suddenly asked Violet.

“I don’t know, but if he did, Count Olaf might know something about him,” Violet replied.

Mr. Poe came blustering through his office door with his coat, briefcase, and hat all piled into his arms. He opened his mouth to speak, but let out a single large cough before he spoke. “Baudelaires, I have wonderful news! Dr. Montgomery is returning from his travels and will be taking you home with him tomorrow! Isn’t that fantastic?”

Violet and Klaus glanced at each other. “Yes, that is wonderful!” Klaus replied with a smile.

Mr. Poe’s face turned into a patronizing gaze. “Unfortunately, orphans, that means that you cannot go to Count Olaf’s dinner tonight.”

“Why not?” Violet immediately blurted, perhaps louder than it should have been.

“You children need to pack your things tonight, as Dr. Montgomery will be picking you up first thing in the morning. That will leave you exactly no time to pack in the morning. Therefore, you’ll have to skip your meeting,” Mr. Poe explained.

Violet opened and closed her mouth in genuine disappointment. “Yes, Mr. Poe.”

“Hulgo,” Sunny squealed, which meant something along the lines of, “Why not let one of us go to the dinner while the other two pack?”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Sunny,” Klaus said. He turned to Mr. Poe, who was obviously confused with the baby’s babbling. “Sunny suggested that one of us could go to Olaf’s dinner while the others pack.”

“I’m not sure, Klaus. Sunny is just an infant. What good could an infant do at a dinner intended for people who can speak coherently?” Mr. Poe asked.

“Leepo,” said Sunny. What she really meant was, “You dickhead,” but Klaus and Violet wisely decided not to repeat what she had said.

“Why not let Violet go? She’s the oldest,” Klaus suggested.

Violet looked up pleadingly at Mr. Poe. “I can take care of myself. I’ll get a taxi there and back. I promise I’ll stay safe.”

Mr. Poe was silent for a moment, save for his occasional small coughs. “Very well. I guess it would be rather rude for at least one of you to not show up after such a generous offer. Well, Violet, as soon as we get back to my home, you’ll need to change into something nice immediately. And you’ll need to make sure you’re back no later than 9:00. You have an exciting day tomorrow, and I don’t want you falling asleep while you’re meeting Dr. Montgomery.”

Violet grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Poe. I promise I’ll be back by then.”

When that was all agreed upon, Mr. Poe drove the three children back to his home. As Klaus and Sunny began to sort and pack their clothes, Violet was trying to get dressed. Inconspicuously, she was attempting to make sure she looked her absolute best without drawing her siblings’ or the Poes’ attention.

Violet tied her ribbon around her wrist and snatched up a notebook of hers that included many blueprints for inventions that she had thought up. Before she walked out the front door, Mrs. Poe stopped her and gave her a bit of money for the cab to and from the theatre.

As Violet waited on the front stoop for the taxi they had called, she considered backing out. What if Count Olaf sent her back because Klaus and Sunny could not come? No, the dinner was a guise to figure out the connection between Count Olaf and her parents. But what if Count Olaf hated her inventions and thought they were silly? No, he said he wanted to see them. What if, after everything, he thought her to be just an average 14-year-old girl?

Just as Violet decided that she wasn’t going, the taxi pulled up in front of her.

“Are you heading to the theatre?” the driver called out to her through the open window.

“Yes,” Violet answered before she could stop herself. She climbed into the back of the car and shut the door.

The taxi took off towards her destination. She stared out the window, her mind on Count Olaf and the dinner and how it would go. The driver, unfortunately, was very talkative. Other than the occasional nod or verbal affirmation, Violet never spoke during the driver’s ongoing monologue that covered topics from the engagement of his twin sister to a town he had once visited that was themed entirely after birds.

The taxi finally arrived at the theatre, and Violet could not get out fast enough. She paid the driver and tipped him, and he sped off to his next customer.

Violet approached the theatre door and pulled at the handle. It was locked. Her heart sank. Had this been a cruel joke? Had Count Olaf forgotten the dinner? Violet cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the glass door into the dark lobby.

“I believe theatres are dark on Mondays,” came a familiar voice from behind. Violet whirled around to see Count Olaf standing tall, a smirk on his face. “Am I mistaken?”

Violet smiled brightly. “No, you’re not.”

Olaf pitched up one side of his eyebrow. “Hm. And do you know why theatres are dark on Mondays, clever girl?”

Violet scrunched her face up in thought. “Most people say that it’s because every theatre is haunted, so the venue is left for the ghosts to use on Mondays,” she said.

Olaf nodded. “Very impressive, Miss Baudelaire.” He looked around. “Where are your bespectacled brother and your theatre-critic sister?”

“They couldn’t come tonight.” Olaf cocked his head. Violet continued, “Our guardian is coming to pick us up tomorrow morning and take us to our new home, so Klaus and Sunny decided to stay behind and pack.”

“Well, I’m glad that it was you who decided to come. I am very eager to hear about your famous inventions after your parents offered such high praise,” Olaf explained. He placed a hand on Violet’s shoulder and pulled her away from the theatre.

“Where are we going?” Violet asked, flustered that he was touching her.

“There’s a new restaurant that all the city’s top financial advisors claim is the most ‘in’ place to dine. We’ll be eating there,” Olaf said.

“We’re really having dinner?” Violet asked. “And who’s ‘we?’”

Olaf smiled. “Of course! It’s the dinner hour, and one of the best times to discuss things is over a wonderful meal. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s great.”

Count Olaf glanced down to Violet. “Or is there something else you would rather do?” He waggled his eyebrow.

Violet blinked at Olaf. It took her a decidedly awkward amount of time to the innuendo. “Oh, uh—“ She shook her head. “No, dinner is perfect.”

“Good, because my troupe has already gotten a table.” Olaf smirked again.

Perhaps that wasn’t an innuendo after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "A Series of Unfortunate Events." The ASOUE universe belongs solely to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> Please leave a kudos and comment if you feel so inclined (although I wish you would be so inclined... I LOVE feedback!).


	4. The Thrilling Touch

At 9:00 on the dot, Violet dashed from the taxi, through the rain, and under the Poe’s house’s front door overhang. When she knocked on the front door, she heard shuffling inside. The door flew open to reveal Mr. Poe in pajamas with a matching robe. It was a bit shocking to see Mr. Poe in something other than a suit, but the feeling was shaken when Mr. Poe began to cough into his handkerchief.

“Violet, you’re back!” Mr. Poe said, sounding a bit surprised.

“You told me to be back by 9:00, Mr. Poe,” Violet observed.

Mr. Poe smiled. “So I did. Come on in.” He moved aside for Violet to come in and closed the door behind her and locked it. “How was the dinner?”

Violet smiled brightly, her heart soaring and her insides jittery. She hoped she did not appear too excited or giddy, but she simply could not contain herself. “It was wonderful! Thank you for letting me go.”

“That’s lovely. Well, I would love to stay up and chat more about your interesting evening, but it really is time for you to go to bed. Dr. Montgomery will be picking you up tomorrow morning on his way home, so be dressed and ready to go around 8:30,” Mr. Poe instructed.

Violet blinked at his brusque good night, but made her way to the bathroom. “Good night, sir,” she replied.

Violet got ready for bed and went to Edgar and Albert’s room, where she found her brother up against the wall and reading by flashlight while Sunny was fast asleep in her spot on the floor. Edgar and Albert were already asleep in their beds.

“How did Sunny go down?” Violet whispered to her brother.

“Go to bed!” one of the Poe boys hissed to Violet, who rolled her eyes.

She sat down next to Klaus. He tore his eyes away from the book and looked at his sister. “She was pretty tired, even though I did most of the packing,” Klaus whispered with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry, Klaus. I shouldn’t have gone. You must be exhausted,” Violet said.

“It wasn’t any trouble. As long as you had a good dinner and got some good information,” Klaus replied.

“I did.” Violet sighed. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

Klaus smiled in the dark. “I guess you must be tired, too.”

“Good night, Klaus,” Violet said as she went to her spot on the floor. She rolled onto her side away from Klaus and tried to relax.

After about an hour, Klaus shut off the flashlight and went to sleep. Violet finally felt like she could reflect on the evening and feel giddy about what happened. She grinned to herself in the darkness. Her thoughts traveled back to the beginning of the night.

 

Earlier

Olaf ushered Violet into the salmon pink restaurant. He waved his arm towards a large table filled with the actors Violet saw in the show, the hook-handed man, the white-faced women, the bald man, and the person of indeterminate gender. “Your table awaits, Miss Baudelaire,” he said with a wink.

Violet blushed heavily at the gesture and went to the table. The actors greeted Olaf jovially when they saw him, and he laughed, waving his hands in fake modesty. He then turned to Violet and gestured to all of them. “This is my acting troupe. You read the playbill?”

Violet looked up to Olaf. “Oh, yes, I did.”

“Then you know all their names,” Olaf said with a grin.

Violet panicked on the inside, as she had indeed read all of their names, but she could not remember any of their names. She was sure that the hook-handed man’s name began with an ‘F.’

Olaf pulled out a chair for Violet to sit in and took his place next to her. Besides the small talk, everyone was mostly silent as they studied the menus.

Violet looked around the restaurant, but she decided that it was not her favorite. It smelled strongly of salmon; it was a salmon restaurant, but it did not have to smell as fishy as it did. The other patrons, however, did not seem to notice or mind the odor. Other than Count Olaf and his group, everyone was outrageously dressed. It reminded Violet of fashion shows, where none of the clothes modeled would actually be worn by everyday people.

Once their waiter came around and they placed their orders, Olaf settled back into his seat and turned his attention to Violet. “So, Miss Violet Baudelaire. I understand we have a connection, you and I,” he stated. He lazily sipped his goblet of wine while gazing steadily at Violet. “Other than the night we met.” He winked.

She nodded, her ears turning red at his wink. “How did you know our parents? You came to the parties they hosted.”

Olaf sighed and looked up in thought, swirling the wine in his glass. “Your parents and I became friends through a certain…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Organization. A club, if you will.”

“What kind of club?” Violet asked.

The corner of Olaf’s mouth turned upward. “It’s a secret.”

Violet scoffed. “A secret club?” She turned away and said jokingly, “I don’t believe you.”

Olaf feigned offense. “Violet Baudelaire, I am utterly offended that you don’t take my word for it.”

“That’s all I have. Your word,” Violet replied. “Was it a secret club for hosting parties?”

“Nah,” Olaf said. “That was just for fun.”

Violet thought for a moment. “Well, if you can’t tell me what it is, can you at least tell me what they did?”

“What do you mean?” Olaf raised one side of his eyebrow.

“Every club has an objective or a goal that brings all of it’s members together—“

“Except perhaps for a club whose sole objective is to have no specific objective,” Olaf interrupted with a smirk.

Violet chuckled. “Is that the case for this club?”

“No,” Olaf replied impishly.

“Well, then, what is the club’s objective?”

Olaf sucked his teeth and took another sip of his wine. “The best way I can describe it is that our club helps solve problems around the world.”

“It sounds very noble,” Violet commented.

Olaf cleared his throat, his expression turning slightly serious. “It wasn’t always noble, Violet, I’m sorry to say.”

Violet frowned and cocked her head up at Olaf. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“There was a short time where the organization almost split up because of some unnoble people,” Olaf replied.

“Oh, it’s actually ‘ignoble,’” Violet chimed in.

“Hm?”

Violet immediately felt stupid. “Sorry. The word ‘unnoble’ is ‘ignoble.’”

Olaf pitched up his single brow in interest. “Clever girl,” he murmured with a slight smile.

Violet felt a warm and fuzzy glow within her at his praise.

“Well, anyway, this schism happened—“ Olaf paused. “How old are you?”

“I’m 14,” Violet replied.

“14, wow.” He began again. “The schism happened long before you were born. It started with someone stealing a sugar bowl from a…close friend of mine. Of course, that wasn’t the only thing that caused it, but I was on one side, while your parents were on the other. It ended up being a vast misunderstanding, but, due to my inability to see reason at that point in my life.” Olaf stopped, his eyes foggy at the memories. “Unfortunately, it cost my engagement and Beatrice’s relationship with another man.”

“So when did my father come in?” Violet questioned.

Olaf took another sip of his wine. “The schism only lasted a few months, but Beatrice already knew Bertrand. They got married a year and a half after the schism ended, I believe,” he said.

Violet nodded. “So who was the man my mother dated before my father?”

Olaf finished his wine and set the goblet back down on the table. “An insufferable know-it-all who was annoying to be around. He was still a friend before he went on the lam for some godforsaken reason,” Olaf replied. “Haven’t heard from him since the schism, to be honest.”

Violet sighed and turned to face her plate. She was excited for the wealth of information that she had been gifted.

“Enough about the past. It’s already done,” Olaf said. He crossed his leg and hung his arm over the back of his chair. “I want to see why your parents always claimed you were an amazing little inventor.”

Violet perked up and picked up her invention notebook. She held it close to her chest. “These are ideas for inventions that I have. I used to have a bunch of other notebooks before the fire.” She looked down at the book, mourning the loss of her other ideas. She handed the book over to Olaf, who gently took it.

“I’ve only built a few of them,” Violet added. “I just built a machine that would retrieve a stone from the water when you skipped it.”

Olaf studied several pages of Violet’s notebook with great interest. He scanned each page that he landed on with such intensity that it almost made Violet nervous.

“I don’t understand half of the technical stuff in here,” Olaf commented. “But all of these look incredibly ingenious.”

Violet’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Olaf glanced up at her from underneath his brow. “You sound surprised.”

“Oh, it’s just that I haven’t really shown anyone my blueprints and ideas outside of my family,” Violet explained.

“And why is that?” Olaf asked as he continued to peruse the notebook.

“I…” Violet stopped. “I don’t know. I guess I’m too embarrassed.”

Olaf suddenly stopped on a certain page and smiled. “A machine to help with costume changes?” he said excitedly.

“Oh, yes! I came up with that when my mother was telling me how hard it was for her to do a costume change for this one opera she was in. She only had a minute to get out of one corset and dress and then into the next outfit. That was one of the only times my mother ever complained about a performance,” Violet stated.

Olaf stood and flipped the notebook around so that the pages were showing to the others. “Everyone! Look at this!”

The troupe stopped chatting with each other and turned their attention to Olaf.

“This is an invention that assists with costume changes!” Olaf suddenly turned to Violet. “How long does the change take?”

Violet thought for a second. “Less than a minute, actually.”

The troupe uttered impressed murmurs of approval. The hook-handed man spoke up: “Does that work for dresses or pants?”

“Theoretically, it would work for all costumes,” Violet replied.

“Is it portable?” one of the white-faced women asked.

“Yes, it can fold up into a suitcase,” Violet affirmed.

Once again, the actors voiced their praise and began talking amongst themselves about it.

Olaf sat and leaned close to Violet and held the notebook out for her to take. “If you were given the resources, do you think you could actually build this?”

“Of course,” Violet replied. She took the book.

“What would you say to me hiring you to build one for my troupe?” Olaf asked.

Violet’s heart leaped at the prospect, but then sank. “Count Olaf, I would love to, but I’m going to my new home tomorrow with my new guardian. I don’t know where he lives or if he has the resources I need to build something like this. I would have to have all different types of people and costumes to test it on,” Violet explained.

Olaf’s face fell and he nodded. “I understand, my dear.” He then took out a pen from his pocket. “Can I see your notebook?” he asked, and Violet handed it to him. He flipped through and found the page with the costume-changing machine. He wrote something on the page, circled it, and handed the book back to Violet. “In case you’re able to take me up on my offer.”

As Violet smiled and set the notebook down next to her chair, Olaf subtly gazed at her. She was a fascinating girl, and just as bright as Beatrice and Bertrand insisted. He could see the gears turning in her brilliant mind as she thought up inventions and machines as if it were as easy as a first grade math problem.

Violet turned back to him but quickly averted his eyesight. She watched the rest of the acting troupe engage, as did Olaf.

When Olaf glanced again at Violet’s face, he noticed a sadness shadowed behind her happy expression. He knew exactly what she was going through with her parents gone. It broke his heart to see this intelligent and sophisticated young girl extremely broken by the tragedy. A shiver ran up his spine; she at least had her brother and sister. He had no one.

Olaf’s entire right side burned where he was close to Violet. He so wanted to take up her hand and tell her that everything would be all right and that she needn’t worry about the future. He wanted to promise that he would protect her from all terrible things, but perhaps that was him getting ahead of himself.

The waiter soon brought out the entrees for everyone, and the night wore on as Violet engaged in conversations with the troupe. Olaf intermittantly had a story to tell about whatever topic they were on, and he would sometimes interject with his acting brilliance.

Though it would normally bother her if it were anyone else bragging, Violet did not mind Olaf’s slight narcissism. She figured that it could absolutely be worse, so she just listened to his self-praise.

“So,” Olaf began as the waiter brought out dessert. It was not a particularly good dessert that neither he nor Violet were excited about since it was salmon flavored. “What’s your new guardian like?” Olaf asked. He pushed around the dessert in its bowl with a spoon. “Do you like him?”

Violet shrugged. “I’ve never met him. He’s supposed to be a distant relative of ours, but we had never heard of him,” she replied.

Olaf took a bite of the dessert and stifled a grimace. He did not care if salmon was in: the salmon dessert was disgusting. “What’s his name?” he asked after swallowing.

“Dr. Montgomery Montgomery,” Violet said. “Do you know him?”

Olaf paused in thought and squinted. “The name does ring a bell,” he said vaguely.

“I figured it was a longshot. I thought maybe if you knew my parents you might know him, too.” Violet pushed away her dessert, rather annoyed at the fishy taste.

Olaf shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Well, if your parents trusted you with him, he can’t be all that bad, can he?” he asked Violet.

Violet cocked her head. In all the fuss and worry, she had not stopped to think about it that way. “I suppose not. It would be unfortunate if they left us with a horrible guardian who hated us,” Violet said.

Olaf smiled. “Well, I know that we’ve only just met, but if your guardian does end up being terrible, you can always call me.” He placed his large hand over Violet’s small one in her lap.

Violet gasped almost inaudibly and looked down at the contact. Her hand burned beneath his palm, which caused goosebumps to shoot up her arm. Her stomach did somersaults, and she felt a slight twinge in her lower belly that traveled down to her nether regions. She parted her lips to respond to Olaf, but she found herself utterly speechless and having completely forgotten what he was saying.

“I…” she started.

At her voice, Olaf stroked his thumb over the back of her hand to signal his listening.

“I, uh…” Violet’s voice kept dying in her throat. She looked up to find Olaf gazing at her, his single brow knitted upward in rising concern. Violet glanced away to the wall to find the clock close to 8:30. “I have to go…” Violet finally said as she pulled her hand from underneath Olaf’s. Before he removed it, there was a brief moment where his fingers brushed Violet’s leg. It was a fleeting second, but the touch left a white hot burning sensation.

Olaf looked back at the clock as well. “Oh, forgive me. I shouldn’t have kept you out this late,” he said.

Violet stood and scooped up her notebook. “It’s fine, Count Olaf. I just have to be home by 9:00 or Mr. Poe will be quite upset,” she replied.

Olaf stood with her. “Let me call a taxi for you and wait with you.”

“Oh, no, you have your friends here. I’ll be fine,” Violet said.

Olaf sighed. “It’s not safe for little orphans to be out and about in the city. Especially if they’re alone,” he reasoned.

Violet looked down at the floor. He was right. “If it’s all right with your troupe,” she said quietly.

Olaf grinned and spread his hands. “Of course it is! They can handle themselves.” He chuckled and glanced at his troupe, who were silently watching the exchange. “Violet must take her leave now, everyone,” he said to his troupe.

They collectively said their good-byes to Violet, and Olaf ushered her out the restaurant door. Unfortunately, they found that it was raining a fair amount, so Olaf had Violet stay under the awning of the restaurant while he went to the payphone on the sidewalk to call a taxi. Violet hugged her notebook closer to her body as the chilly wind brushed some of the cold rain underneath the awning.

Olaf hung up the phone and came back to wait next to Violet. “They said it would be about five minutes,” he told Violet.

“Thank you, for waiting with me,” Violet said back.

Olaf smirked. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to such a pretty girl as you, Violet.”

Violet swallowed hard. She shivered and squeezed her arms around her body. Olaf noticed this and began to shed his sport jacket.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that, Count Olaf,” Violet protested. She stepped away politely, and Olaf looked genuinely hurt.

“It might not be the cleanest in the world, but it’s at least warm,” he stated. Violet sighed and stepped closer to him again. He held the jacket up and placed it around Violet’s shoulders, making sure that it was secure.

Violet thought she was going to collapse any second. This kind man who was a friend of her parents’ wanted her to build one of her inventions, genuinely listened to her, and was a complete gentleman. It wasn’t any wonder why she was beginning to harbor, dare she say, feelings for him. Of course, this gesture was as chivalrous as anything she had ever experienced, but that followed by such a touch in the restaurant? It was too much for Violet’s heart to handle, and she was absolutely positive that Olaf could hear the quick, steady thuds of her heart.

They waited for the taxi in silence, the patter of the rain filling the space all around them. Violet looked up at this actor, this enigma. He stood there, his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched, the wind chill clearly getting to him. His stance was guarded, and his jaw clenched several times as if he was muttering to himself. Violet desperately wanted to take his hand in hers and simply hold it.

“Ah,” Olaf spoke. He let his arms fall to his side as the taxi pulled up on the road in front of them. He turned to Violet and took the coat from her shoulders and held it above her head. They both stepped out into the rain, and he opened the back of the taxi, still shielding Violet from the rain with his jacket. She got in and placed her notebook on the seat next to her.

Before he closed the door, Violet said to Olaf, “Thank you for this evening. It was very entertaining.”

Olaf bowed his head. “Until we meet again,” Olaf took Violet’s hand and pressed a small kiss onto the back of it. “Bonsoir, Violet Baudelaire.” He released Violet’s hand and closed the taxi door. He waved to her once more and turned around to head back into the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own “A Series of Unfortunate Events.” The ASOUE universe belongs solely to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> Also, leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed. If you didn't, leave a comment but not a kudos. If you're shy, come on here as a guest and leave a kudos but not a comment!
> 
> Sorry that this is a short chapter! I promise, I'm working on more, and I have a lot more planned.


	5. Incomprehensible Infatuation

Olaf stomped into his apartment building, slamming the front door harder than he intended. He marched up the grungy stairs as he left a trail of water from the downpour that he had sped through outside. He reached his floor and, muttering under his breath, jabbed the key into his apartment door lock.

How much more idiotic could he have been towards Violet? He knew that it had been the wine that relaxed him to the point of being so forward—yes, it had to be the wine.

He slammed his apartment door and threw off his jacket. He punted it across the room in frustration. “Olaf, you fucking shitstain!” he growled at himself.

When he had first seen Violet outside the theatre, he had not approached her right away. He stood off to the side to admire her. She was a lovely girl, there was no denying it. Of course, Olaf had had fleeting thoughts that made his heart skip beats, but he suppressed them before they could really even manifest.

As Olaf took a bottle of vodka from his shelf and took a large swig, he kicked off his wet shoes and shuffled them to the side in his kitchenette. When he thought about it, their meeting earlier that evening had gone rather smoothly.

Olaf had tried to be as truthful as possible about Violet’s parents without revealing more than he should have. He truly did respect Bertrand and Beatrice when he knew them: Bertrand was incredibly intelligent in his own right and was practically a jack of all trades. Beatrice had such a wonderful operatic voice, and that was really something coming from Olaf, as he did not like opera. Her wits rivaled Bertrand’s and Lemony’s own.

Olaf regretted losing touch with them in the past seven years, and that regret only deepened when he spoke with Violet. She was so hungry for any scrap of something that would remind her of her parents. Olaf noticed that, as he spoke about them and the secret club as he described it, she listened intently. She was a little sponge, soaking up every word and folding it away in her heart. He pitied Violet and hated seeing her melancholy. She was far too precious to experience such a crushing blow so early in her life.

Olaf put his lips to the vodka bottle and sucked down some of the bitter alcohol. What the hell was wrong with him?

He sat down on his sofa and placed the bottle on the coffee table in front of him. He leaned his elbows onto his knees and clasped his hands together. He sighed at thought of Violet’s sadness.

He had noticed that she was becoming depressed as he spoke about the senior Baudelaires, so he had mentioned Violet’s inventions. It was like he had flipped a switch in her as Olaf recalled how the girl brightened at his suggestion. She was immensely proud of her inventions and her notebook of ideas. When she had smiled, Olaf seemed to recall how everything in the restaurant had miraculously lit up as well. His heart had swelled and he rejoiced in seeing her happy again. He would do anything to keep that sweet smile from ever disappearing, and that was exactly why he asked her to build one of her inventions for his troupe at the theater.

His memories reached the point of that night where he had actually touched her. He did not want to think about it, because he was sure he was going to die on that sofa of embarrassment at the recollection of those moments. However, the touches had felt…satisfying and sweet.

Violet’s hand was dwarfed in his. He remembered the feel of her skin: compared to his calloused hands, hers were soft and smooth like a porcelain doll. He had been afraid to hold her hand too tight—she could have shattered beneath his touch like china.

She had pulled her hand away: in embarrassment or fear, Olaf could not tell. But for just a brief second, he had felt her thigh beneath the tips of his fingers. Her leg was covered by the skirt of her dress, and his knee-jerk instinct was to hook his finger around the hem and lift her dress to caress her soft skin. He had not given into that desire, as it was unfounded and a highly inappropriate intrusive thought. Instead, he took his hand away like the gentleman he should have been.

Finally, he began to reminisce on their parting. He did not want to call a taxi for Violet, as he wanted the night to continue. He loved being around the clever girl. She made him forget about himself for a while, which is something he never did. Of course, with her, he wanted to focus on her; she deserved attention, and he found that he adored giving it to her.

He had brought her hand up and kissed it in an archaic gesture of farewell. When his lips touched her skin, he felt electricity run through his body. All it took was one kiss, and he never wanted to stop. Olaf had wished in that moment that he could pull her out of the taxi into an embrace and kiss her own lips. God, he could only imagine how sweet she tasted. Instead, he let her hand go and waved good bye to her as the taxi drove away with Violet.

Olaf realized that he was smiling at the memory himself. He shook his head and chastised himself. Violet was only a little girl, and he was her senior by nearly four decades. He rubbed his forehead. “Don’t think about her anymore,” he said out loud to himself.

Olaf stood and snatched his vodka as he went to his desk to look over his lines for the next evening. He had to get his mind off of Violet Baudelaire. He had asked her to build an invention and she said she could not. In fact, that night was probably the last night he would ever see her. She was going to live with her new guardian, and that was that. End of discussion.

Pushing the script away, he slouched in his desk chair. He did not want tonight to have been their last night. There was so much more that he wanted to talk to her about. He wished he had more time with her, but he knew that it was a selfish wish. What Olaf really wanted was the best for Violet and for her to be happy.

“I have to let her go,” Olaf muttered to himself. He had to let Violet go to her new life and leave her old one behind, and he was a part of her old life.

 

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny waited at Mr. Poe’s breakfast table. Eleanora had already gone to work at The Daily Punctilio, and Edgar and Albert had caught the bus to school. Mr. Poe sat at the table as well, drinking his bitter black coffee.

The Baudelaire children were utterly terrified, and every little sound made their heart stop as they anticipated Dr. Montgomery’s arrival. Violet’s mind was half on her new guardian and half on the previous night. She particularly remembered the gentle and chaste kiss that Count Olaf had pressed onto the back of her hand. Unconciously, she rubbed her left thumb across that spot on the back of her right hand.

A sudden loud cough blasted from Mr. Poe. Violet looked at him with her siblings. Mr. Poe then said, “So, children, are you excited for your new life with Dr. Montgomery?”

Violet glanced at Klaus, who replied, “Well, it’s hard to say. We hardly know anything about him. We don’t know if he’s kind or mean. We don’t even know what he’s a doctor of.”

“I know he’s a real doctor, not like psychologists and whatnot,” Mr. Poe said smiling.

“With all due respect, sir, psychologists are real doctors,” Violet corrected.

“Reebo,” Sunny cooed. She really meant, “You should go see one, yourself.”

Mr. Poe frowned. “Now, Violet, I hope you won’t do that with Dr. Montgomery.”

Violet raised her eyebrows. “Do what, sir?”

Mr. Poe huffed and let out a quiet cough. “Correct him. I’ve been letting it slide because you’ve been through an awful tragedy, but I doubt Dr. Montgomery will stand for such behavior.” Mr. Poe sat up straight. “Adults do know more than you, Violet.”

Before Violet, Klaus, or Sunny could protest, the doorbell rang.

“Ah!” Mr. Poe said. “That must be Dr. Montgomery.” Mr. Poe stood, and the Baudelaire children followed his action. Violet picked up Sunny and placed the baby on her hip.

Mr. Poe left the kitchen and went around the corner to the front door. Violet and Klaus looked at each other and exchanged silent reassurances to each other.

“Dr. Montgomery! How wonderful to meet you!” Mr. Poe said after he opened the door.

“Mr. Poe, isn’t it?” a man’s jaunty voice resounded in reply.

“Yes!”

Dr. Montgomery laughed. “It’s a real pleasure. I’m so sorry that I was out of the country for such a while.”

“It’s quite all right. The children are through here,” Mr. Poe stated.

Mr. Poe returned to the kitchen with a very kind and warm appearing man in a cream-colored suit. He smiled genuinely when he saw the Baudelaire children.

“Children, this is your new guardian: Dr. Montgomery,” Mr. Poe said.

Dr. Montgomery waved his hand. “Please, ‘Dr. Montgomery’ is far too formal. I insist you call me ‘Uncle Monty,’” he interjected. “I’m not really your uncle—”

“You’re their father’s cousin’s wife’s brother, am I right?” Mr. Poe interrupted.

Uncle Monty nodded. “Yes, that’s it.” He turned his attention back to the children and approached them.

“I’m Violet, this is my brother Klaus and my sister Sunny,” Violet introduced.

Violet did not think it was possible for Uncle Monty to smile even bigger, but he did. “What wonderful names for wonderful children. I look forward to getting to know the three of you better,” Uncle Monty said.

Violet and Klaus looked at each other once again and breathed a sigh of relief that Uncle Monty was nice.

“Now, why don’t we head home? I have some ingredients to make coconut cream cake that are begging to be used,” Uncle Monty said.

Klaus and Uncle Monty brought the Baudelaires’ belongings out to his jeep and loaded up the car. Before the children got in, they turned to Mr. Poe who was ready to get into his car to go to work.

“Thank you for letting us stay with you, Mr. Poe. I hope we weren’t too much trouble,” Klaus said.

“Well, when you’re only used to two children in the house, it can get a little hectic when you add three more,” Mr. Poe said with an artificial grin. “Be good for Dr. Montgomery, children.”

“We will,” Violet assured.

The siblings got into Uncle Monty’s jeep and did not look back at the banker’s house as the car sped away. On the way to Uncle Monty’s house, he asked Violet, Klaus, and Sunny questions about their likes and dislikes, their aspirations in life, and even how they were coping with the loss of their parents. He listened intently to each of their responses, even Sunny’s babbling.

As Klaus conversed with Uncle Monty, Violet leaned her head back onto the headrest and relaxed. She smiled knowing that she and her siblings were going to be in good hands.

 

That evening, after Uncle Monty gave Violet, Klaus, and Sunny the grand tour and explaining that he was a herpetologist, he allowed them to pick out their rooms and unpack their belongings.

Violet already loved her room, as there was a lot of space to pin up her blueprints for things she wished to invent; Uncle Monty had promised to get Violet some more notebooks, tools, and even proper blueprint paper.

As she hung up her dresses in her closet, a small knock sounded at her door. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened and closed. She peeked out of the closet to see Klaus, who looked brighter than he had in quite some time.

“How’s your room?” Klaus asked.

Violet nodded. “I love it. It’s going to be even better when I get everything set up,” she replied. “What about your room?”

“Uncle Monty said that he would let me have some bookcases in there so I can have some of my favorite books in there with me.” Klaus went to sit on Violet’s bed and was silent for a bit. “I like him, Violet.”

Violet turned around and smiled at her brother. “I do, too.”

“He’s already better than Mr. Poe,” Klaus mentioned. “At least he doesn’t cough incessantly.”

Violet giggled and hung her last dress up. She sat next to Klaus on the bed.

“I think he actually cares about us,” Klaus admitted. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Based on what I’ve seen, he was kind to us both in front of Mr. Poe and when we were all alone in the car.” Klaus lowered his head. “Do you think we’ll eventually have to… call him ‘dad?’”

Violet sighed. “Uncle Monty could never replace Mother or Father.”

“I know,” Klaus said.

“And so does Uncle Monty, I think,” Violet added as she placed her hand on Klaus’.

“Then what will he be to us?” Klaus peered at his sister through his glasses.

“He’ll be…” Violet paused to think. “He’ll be our Uncle Monty,” she replied.

Another knock came from Violet’s door. “Come in!”

“Violet?” Uncle Monty poked his head into the room. “Oh, Klaus! You’re in here, too!”

“Is there something you need, Uncle Monty?” Violet asked.

Uncle Monty smiled. “I was just coming to tell you that dinner is almost ready. It’s a nice Brunswick stew and there’s coconut cream cake for dessert.” Uncle Monty paused. “Will that be all right for Sunny? I seem to recall Mr. Poe saying something about her dietary needs?”

“Oh, Sunny likes hard foods, like raw carrots,” Klaus said.

Uncle Monty nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. See you in a moment,” he said, closing the door.

“Oh!” Klaus started. “What did Count Olaf have to say last night? With everything going on today, I completely forgot to ask!”

In an abridged version of the dinner, Violet explained to Klaus how their parents knew Count Olaf. She deliberately left out the events that made her heart flutter, as she knew her brother would not want to hear about her infatuation with the actor and his, in her mind, rather forward ways.

Violet and Klaus retrieved Sunny from her room and went downstairs to the dining room to find Uncle Monty had set the table exquisitely with the bowl of Brunswick stew in the middle.

“It’s not a lot, and you’ll have to forgive me. I just came in from my travels this morning, so I did not have much time to prepare something better,” Uncle Monty announced as he stood at the head of the table. He gestured to the three other chairs. “Please, sit,” he offered.

“Don’t apologize, Uncle Monty, it smells just wonderful,” Violet said after a brief pause.

“Where did you travel?” Klaus asked as he helped himself to the stew.

“It was a herpetological expedition to India. One of my favorite places. I have many specimens in my Reptile Room from India as you saw earlier,” Uncle Monty mentioned. “You three will absolutely have to come with me on my next expedition!”

“Kalli!” Sunny cooed, chomping down on the raw carrot set before her. What she really meant to say was, “I look forward to it!”

It was Violet’s turn to get some Brunswick stew. “Uncle Monty, if you don’t mind me asking, what about school?”

“Well, children,” Uncle Monty began. “I was thinking, if it’s all right with you, that I could homeschool you so that you could come with me. You would learn so much about the world, and you could focus on what interests you. For instance, Violet, you could focus on physics and your inventions.”

Violet’s heart nearly stopped. “Really? I could do that?”

Uncle Monty grinned. “We would have to adhere to at least some type of curriculum, but yes, if that is what truly interests you.”

Violet bit her lip. “Would that mean, if I found opportunities to build my machines outside of homeschool, I would be able to do that?”

“Practice makes perfect, doesn’t it?” Uncle Monty added.

Violet’s stomach flipped upside down. What if she could take up Olaf’s offer and build the costume changing machine at the theatre?

“Well, it’s interesting that you say that, Uncle Monty,” Violet began. “Last night, we were invited to dinner by the acting troupe from the theatre in the city. They saw an idea I had for a machine that would help with costume changes, and they wanted me to build it and test it on them.”

“Violet, what a wonderful opportunity!” Uncle Monty exclaimed.

“I said ‘no’ because I wasn’t sure what you would say or where you lived,” Violet admitted. “And besides, it could be dangerous for me to be alone in the city.”

Uncle Monty thought for a moment. “I think it would be perfectly all right if you went over there for a few hours during the day. Perhaps until 8:00. It doesn’t start getting dark until 9:00 or so at this time of year,” he offered. “Of course, I’d like to meet the manager of the theatre to see if that would be all right.”

Violet looked at Klaus excitedly. “Would you and Sunny be all right if I did this?” she asked.

“Absolutely. Uncle Monty’s got a library, and as long as Sunny has something to bite, we should be fine,” Klaus replied.

Uncle Monty spread his hands. “Then I suppose it’s settled. Do you have a way you can get in touch with them to say you’ll be doing this?”

Violet nodded, remembering the little note Olaf had scrawled in her notebook.

 

Olaf trudged to his dressing room and shut the door behind him. He sighed in relief. As much as he adored the high of performing, he loved when the weight of the performance lifted from his shoulders at the end of the night. He sat at his dressing table and removed the stage makeup.

The show was successful once again, with a standing ovation and three curtain calls. He enjoyed the popularity: he deserved it, as ‘Al Funcoot’ was a theatrical genius with his plays.

Three sharp, metallic raps came to Olaf’s door. “Yes,” he shouted. He removed his wig and placed in on its stand.

The hook-handed man opened the door. “There’s a call for you, boss. Line one,” he said, gesturing to the phone on the opposite wall.

Olaf sighed in exhaustion, but the hook-handed man interrupted him. “She says it’s important.”

“She?” Olaf perked up.

The man with hooks for hands nodded and left. Olaf stood, a puzzled expression adorning his face. He picked up the phone and pressed the button for line one. “Count Olaf, impresario,” he introduced,

“Count Olaf, it’s Violet Baudelaire,” the voice on the other end said.

A bright smile exploded across Olaf’s face. “Ah, the clever little inventor! I see you found my note in your little inventing notebook. Lovely to hear from you again, my dear. How is your guardian?”

“Dr. Montgomery,” Violet said.

“Yes, him. Is he treating you all well?” Olaf’s voice went playfully serious. “Do I need to come have a stern discussion with him?”

“Oh, no, Count Olaf. He’s very good and kind to all of us,” Violet replied.

“What about you?” Olaf asked. He pulled over his chair to the phone and sat. “Is he good to you? You like him?”

Violet paused. Olaf was actually interested in her wellbeing and opinion on her guardian. “Yes, he is good to me. And I really do like him. We’re—I’m going to be fine.”

Olaf smiled once again, relieved to hear her affirmations. “Well, then,” he said. “How can I be of service to the fair maiden, Violet Baudelaire?”

Violet giggled at the smirk she heard in Olaf’s voice. “Well, it turns out Dr. Montgomery is very interested in me honing my inventing skills, so he thinks it would be all right for me to come build the costume-changer there at the theatre for a few hours every day,” she explained.

Olaf’s heart felt weightless in his chest. He was really going to be able to spend time with sweet Violet. He mentally chastised himself for the thought and replied, “How wonderful! To think, my troupe will have the very first machine of its kind to ‘exfillite’ our costume changes!” he said triumphantly.

“It’s ‘expedite,’” Violet timidly corrected.

Olaf laughed. “Sharp as a tack, Miss Baudelaire.” The conversation lulled as both of them became silent over the phone. Olaf wanted his brain to come up with something else to ask or say.

Violet did not want to hang up, but she thought perhaps he was politely waiting for her to end the call.

“I…I need to go,” Violet said quietly.

“Oh,” Olaf said. “Yes, of course. You’ve had a busy day.”

“As you have, as well, I’m sure,” Violet replied.

Olaf laughed. “Ah, no. I was just…not doing anything. Just waiting to see if you’d call, really.” Olaf held the receiver away from his head and slapped himself as soon as the last sentence exited his mouth. He could not blame that on alcohol this time. He was stone sober, but now, he really wished he was not.

Violet’s heart seized. He had been waiting to hear from her? “I suppose I’ll speak to you later, then. About the costume-changer,” she said.

Olaf put the phone back to his ear. “That sounds like a plan.” He smiled. “Take care, Violet.”

“I will.”

“Clever little girl,” he said.

Violet smiled. “Knight in shining armor.” She then hung up, the dial tone resonating in Olaf’s ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own “A Series of Unfortunate Events.” ASOUE belongs solely to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> Pretty please leave a kudos and a comment!!


	6. Clandestine Communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this??? An update??
> 
> Sorry for the long wait. It's been super hectic. I had another surgery, I started classes again, and we found a kitten (we named him Lemony Snicket). I know none of those circumstances excuse my absence, but they explain it.
> 
> Also, sorry this is such a short chapter.

Violet struggled to put Olaf to the back of her mind and stay in the present. The days following her call to him were dedicated to settling into Uncle Monty’s home. He entertained the Baudelaire siblings with anecdotes as he showed them his Reptile Room more in-depth. Violet could tell he was incredibly proud of the creatures he had collected, including the oxymoronically named Incredibly Deadly Viper.

Though he apologized profusely, Uncle Monty had to sequester himself to write up a debriefing from his recent trek to India. Of course, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny told him that they did not mind; at that, Uncle Monty promised to emerge from his office to have dinner with the children.

Violet, with Sunny on her hip, turned to Klaus. “Well,” she started. “What should we do?” Violet wished she could go into the city to the theatre…

Klaus adjusted his glasses. “Actually…” he hesitated. “I’ve been reading this fascinating book that Uncle Monty gave me about India and the flora and fauna there.”

Sunny chattered, “Hedda,” which really meant, “And there’s a lovely beam of wood in my room that Uncle Monty gave me that’s waiting to be bitten.”

Violet looked at her brother and sister. “We haven’t been apart since…”

“The fire?” Klaus offered. “Sure we have. When you went to that dinner, and when we set up our rooms—“

“No, I mean, we haven’t been apart to do things we enjoy since the fire,” Violet clarified.

Klaus thought for a moment. “You’re right. I suppose we haven’t.” He smiled slightly. “I guess that means we’re feeling a bit safe again.”

A heavy silence hung between the three of them until Sunny cooed to be dropped off at her room.

Violet took Sunny up to her room as Klaus shut himself into his book nook. Instead of heading to her room to draft up inventions, Violet decided to wander around the second floor of the house. There were many empty rooms, almost as if the house was meant for an incredibly extended family.

At the far end of the hallway, the opposite of where the Baudelaires’ rooms were, there was a room that appeared to double as an attic of some sort. Furniture had been draped with white sheets; boxes and crates were shoved into corners; the one object that intrigued Violet the most was an old rotary phone. It was not hooked up, and a fine film of dust covered it in its years of disuse.

Violet untied the ribbon around her wrist and pulled her hair back. She was going to fix the phone.

She took the device back to her room and placed it on her desks. She hunched over the black telephone, the bell dinging every time she turned it on its side. Violet found the problem in almost no time and set to work fixing the phone.

She dusted the rotary phone off and plugged it into the wall. Violet sat and watched the phone for a moment, hoping it would ring. She sighed; she knew it would be useless to sit and wait for Uncle Monty to get a call.

An intrusive thought butted forward in her mind: “What if you made a call?”

Violet actually scoffed. “That’s stupid,” she whispered to herself. She crossed her arms stubbornly. “Who would I even call?”

Her heart answered for her: Count Olaf.

Violet swallowed hard, the butterflies in her stomach coming to life once again. She was sure that he would absolutely be too busy to speak to some silly girl.

Against her will, Violet reached for the headset. She held the speaker to her ear and heard the low pitch of the dial tone. She glanced down at her open notebook and spun the number dial for the theatre.

The ringing tone began and Violet’s heart dropped. This was a terrible idea. Why did she even do this? She now knew the phone worked, so she could hang up, but she did not.

Just as she had decided to end the call, someone answered the phone. “Hello?” It was the hook-handed man.

“Hi,” Violet said awkwardly. “It’s Violet. Baudelaire, that is.”

“Oh! Hey, Miss Baudelaire! How are you?” he asked brightly.

“Oh, I’m just fine, thank you.”

“You want to talk to Count Olaf?” he asked.

Violet perked up. “Um, yes. Yeah, can I?”

“Sure, he’s in his dressing room. I’ll get him to pick up,” the hook-handed man stated.

Silence overcame the line, and that was the second time Violet thought about hanging up.

“Hello, hello, hello, Miss Baudelaire,” Count Olaf greeted over the phone.

Violet smiled. “Hello, Count Olaf,” she said.

“You’ve graced me with yet another call?” Olaf laughed. “To what do I owe the pleasure this time, Violet?”

She loved it when he said her name. “Well…” she began. Her voice died as she struggled to come up with a reason other than testing a broken phone.

“Have there been any more recent developments in your little…” Olaf paused. “Internship?”

“Oh, well, Dr. Montgomery wants to stop by and talk with the theatre manager to make sure it’s all right with them,” Violet said.

“And to see if it’s safe for you, no doubt,” Olaf added.

Violet stopped. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“One has to think of safety when dealing with such a…” It was Olaf’s voice who died in his throat this time.

Violet’s blood ran chilly as goosebumps prickled all over. “Such a what?” she repeated.

Olaf did not speak for a moment. “Well, a lovely, young girl. There are villains all over the city just waiting to pounce.”

“Oh,” she said. Her heart dropped in some weird combination of embarrassment and hope.

“So,” Olaf cleared his throat, clearing intending to change the subject. “What is your true purpose behind this little communique, Miss Baudelaire?”

Violet turned around and leaned against her desk. “I-I’m not sure what you mean,” she attempted to lie.

“Now, now, Violet. No one calls just to say they have no news. So why have you called me?” Olaf asked.

Violet stuttered horrifically, “I—well, I—it’s—it, uh—“

She could feel his arrogant smirk on the other end of the line. She paused and sighed. “I found an old phone of Dr. Montgomery’s that I fixed up. I wanted to test it to see if I had fixed it properly…”

“And you used my number,” Olaf finished.

Violet smiled lightly. “Well, it was either yours or Mr. Poe’s number.”

“Ugh,” Olaf groaned. “He was that man who came to get you when I was signing your autographs?”

“That’s him. We stayed with him while we were waiting for Uncle Monty to come get us,” Violet explained.

“I’ve only met the man once and I think he’s a twit.” When Violet did not respond immediately, Olaf covered his tracks. “Oh, forgive me.”

“No, he…” Violet glanced towards her closed door and lowered her voice. “He was rather insufferable. His cough was worrisome.”

“What was with that?” Olaf asked, half laughing. “Is he sick?”

Violet giggled. “No, he just coughs all the time, whether he needs to or not.” Violet bit her lip in thought. “He was also rather condescending to me.”

“Really?” Olaf interjected like a church lady ready to receive the latest gossip.

“He always thought that just because we were children we didn’t know basic vocabulary. He told me that adults always know more than me,” Violet spat. “I understand that of course adults will know more based on experience, but I’m still smart. I know what words mean, and what a terrible tragedy I’ve been through, and that psychologists are real doctors—“ Violet stopped and found that she was now figuratively speaking to Mr. Poe, even though she was literally talking to Olaf.

“I’m,” Violet started. She shook her head and rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “I’m sorry for going off like that. You’re probably extremely busy and don’t have time to talk about things like this.”

“It’s all right, Violet,” Olaf assured. “And you’re right: he is condescending.” Olaf sighed. “I’m sorry, Violet. You shouldn’t have been spoken to like that.”

“Well, it’s behind me now. Uncle Monty is much kinder,” Violet said.

“Mr. Poe owes you an apology,” Olaf insisted.

Violet chuckled. “You’re too kind, Count Olaf, but it’s all right. Hopefully, it will be a long time before I have to deal with him again,” Violet said.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go have a little chat with Mr. Poe? I can be very persuasive.” Violet was sure Olaf was waggling his singular eyebrow with that statement.

“No, I’m perfectly fine. No harm has been done at all, I promise,” Violet assured.

Olaf relented. “Very well. But, you must know, Violet, that you can always call me for help. I think your parents would have wanted as many people in your corner as possible.”

Violet’s heart swelled. “Really?”

“Of course, Violet. You can call anytime. I can’t promise I’ll always be available, but I’ll be there,” Olaf said. It was the very least he could do: he could promise to be background support for Violet. All he knew is that he did want to be a part of her life, but, at present, this would be the best he could do.

“Thank you, Count Olaf. Truly, I appreciate that.” Violet leaned her ear further against the headset of the phone.

“You’re most welcome, my dear. I—“ Olaf cut himself off. He had nearly voiced the ponderings of his heart. It was far too soon for that, he told himself. Not to mention how highly inappropriate it was.

Violet’s throat tightened. He had called her ‘my dear.’ It was silly of her to dwell on two simple words, but they were momentous to her. She was his dear. No, she then decided. Not like that. He didn’t mean it like that.

“I’ll talk to Uncle Monty about scheduling a meeting with the theatre manager and you to talk about my internship. I guess that’s what it is,” Violet said. “I’ll call you back when I know something.”

“That sounds marvelous,” Olaf said exaggeratedly. “I look forward to our next correspondence, fair Violet,” he play acted.

“Me too, my knight in shining armor,” she responded. She placed the headset back on the receiver to hang up.

Violet could not help but blush and beam at her interaction with Olaf. He could have disregarded her or hung up (he was a very busy actor, after all), but he did not. He genuinely listened to her, and, although Uncle Monty did the best he could, she still felt a bit more tended to by Olaf. She was not sure if her attraction and draw to him was because of her recent tragedy. Perhaps if the first person who was kind to her from her past had been there in place of Olaf, it would be the same. She was sure that, if she went to a psychiatrist, that’s exactly what they would tell her, that she was attaching herself to some part of her parents as a result of the psychiatric toll their death was playing on her.

Yes, that was it. At this, Violet’s smile faded. Her emotions were replaced with logic: she was reading too far into this situation. She did not have a crush: Olaf was her coping mechanism.

Violet stood and placed the phone set off to the side and out of the way. She snatched up her inventing notebook and headed to Uncle Monty’s library to seek out a book on physics or mechanics.

As she entered the library and closed the door behind her to afford herself some privacy, she pondered on her earlier revelation. If Olaf was her coping mechanism, then she decidedly was still wanting to cope.

 

 

  
The following evening after dinner, Violet brought up her desire to work on her costume-changer at the theater again with Uncle Monty.

Uncle Monty had clapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, dear! I’m so sorry for not remembering, Violet!” he said in a pained tone. “I will look at my calendar tonight and let you know tomorrow when we could go over there and speak with someone about it.”

Violet excitedly thanked Uncle Monty after his profuse apologies. Of course, as she got ready for bed, she felt too excited to even think about sleep.

She glanced at the phone on her desk. Her hand nearly reached for it without her thinking. Should she? It was only 9:30. The play would be over, but he would most likely be there still.

Before giving it a second thought, Violet took up the phone receiver and dialed the theatre’s number.

“Hello?” It was the hook-handed man.

“Hi, it’s Violet,” she said quietly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Violet. Count Olaf’s just left to go home. You just missed him,” the man replied upon hearing Violet’s introduction.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Sorry for bothering you.” Violet was about to hang up.

“He did leave a number for you. In case you called, that is. He left it so you could call him whenever he’s not at the theatre.”

Violet was stunned into silence. Her eyes widened at the mere thought that she was being given a more direct phone number to Count Olaf.

The hook-handed man cleared his throat on the other end. “Um, are you still there, Violet?”

Violet broke from her train of thought. “Yes, sorry, I’m still here!” She balanced the receiver between her head and shoulder and pulled a paper and pencil aside. “What was the number he left?”

The hook-handed man dictated and Violet carefully notated each precious digit. They were, after all, the numbers that spelled her current happiness. She thanked the hook-handed man profusely and hung up, her eyes glued to this new number that Olaf gave.

Violet took up the receiver again and dialed the new number. Her heart pounded rhythmically in her chest; it was so hard she could feel her blood pumping all over her body. After a few long rings, she heard the receiver on the other end pick up.

“Count Olaf speaking,” his clear, dramatic voice came through the phone.

Violet smiled. “Why did you leave your number for me?” she asked.

Olaf chuckled. “What if you needed to reach me and I wasn’t at the theatre?”

“You? Not at the theatre?” Violet teased.

“Yes, as impossible as it may seem, I do live outside of the theatre, little Miss Baudelaire,” he jested right back.

Violet giggled. “Blasphemous.”

“Come again?”

“Oh, nothing. I mean, with you being such a talented, successful, and intelligent impresario—“

“You forgot ‘incredibly handsome,’” Olaf interrupted.

Violet smirked. “Fine. With you being such a talented, successful, intelligent _and_ incredibly handsome impresario, I guess I expected that your life would be consumed with theatre.”

“I am all those things, aren’t I,” Olaf repeated.

Violet laughed. “You weren’t even listening to a word I was saying!”

“Of course I was! You called me all those wonderful things!” Olaf said.

“Well, you know I mean all those, right?” Violet added.

Olaf went silent for a moment, and Violet wondered if she had said the wrong thing.

“Have you heard anything about your Uncle Monty and him wanting to meet with me?” Olaf finally asked.

“Oh, yes! Uncle Monty is looking at possible dates that it would be possible to meet. He still thinks it’ll be a great opportunity to hone my skills.”

“I just know your invention will be top-notch!” Olaf chuckled. “I can picture it now: every theatre in the country having their very own Baudelaire costume-changer. And years in the future, this theatre will be famous for having the very first one ever built.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Violet blushed.

“You know I mean that, right?” Olaf retorted.

Violet rolled her eyes and smiled in response. “Very funny,” she said sarcastically. There was a soft pause, and she knew that their call was coming to an end.

“I should let you rest. You’ve had a busy evening,” Violet said.

“Ah, don’t worry about me. I could talk for hours!” Olaf replied enthusiastically. “But I suppose I shouldn’t. You need your rest. Good night, Violet. Hopefully, we’ll meet in person the next time we speak.”

“I hope so, too,” Violet said. “Good night.” Her cheeks warmed and her heart soared as she hung up the phone.

As Violet settled into bed that night, she thought only of meeting Count Olaf again, face-to-face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "A Series of Unfortunate Events." The ASOUE universe belongs solely to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> Please leave a kudos and/or a comment. I would love to hear your opinions, whether they're positive or negative. I don't mind! Really, I don't!


	7. The Pernicious Pining

Violet could hardly contain her excitement when the day came for Uncle Monty to meet Count Olaf at the theatre. She was allowed to go along, and she could not wait to see the man who had considered her clever enough to ask her to build her machine.

She took careful planning in what she wore. Violet decided to go with a dress that was the same color as her namesake: it was one that she only wore for special occasions, but to prevent herself from looking too formal, she decided to forgo her stockings and went with ankle socks instead. She pulled her hair neatly back with her ribbon so she would look as though she were ready to work. She thought that it might perhaps help her case.

When she left her room to go downstairs for breakfast, Klaus was waiting for her.

“Where’s Sunny?” Violet asked, looking around on the ground for her baby sister.

“Uncle Monty already came up and got her.” Klaus stepped closer. “I hope you get to work on your invention. I made sure I put in a good word for Count Olaf to Uncle Monty last night,” Klaus said to Violet.

She smiled brightly. “Thank you, Klaus.”

“Didn’t you say that Count Olaf thought he knew Uncle Monty?” Klaus asked.

Violet shrugged. “He only said that his name rang a bell.”

“Maybe once they see each other they’ll remember,” Klaus suggested.

They began to descend the staircase. “It’s not just that. Let’s hope that if they _do_ know each other, they were amicable.”

When the two older siblings reached downstairs, Uncle Monty looked rather disheveled as he ran into the foyer to meet the children.

“Good morning, Klaus. Good morning, Violet. I’m so sorry about this, but, Violet, would you mind terribly if we got a really good breakfast in the city? It appears as though we’re running a bit behind,” Uncle Monty said.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Violet agreed.

“Excellent.” Uncle Monty shouldered on his jacket and turned to Klaus. “Klaus, your breakfast is already on the table. I’m afraid it’s only eggs and toast in my haste. And Sunny has an apple that she’s biting on. There’s more in the kitchen if she’s still hungry. Again, I’m so sorry.”

Uncle Monty ushered Violet with him to the front door. “And I’m so sorry to leave you and Sunny on your own.”

“Uncle Monty, everything’s fine. You’ve done so much already,” Klaus said as he followed them to the door.

Uncle Monty opened his jeep door for Violet and they both quickly got in. They began the long journey down Lousy Lane.

Violet’s stomach churned with anxiety. What if she wasn’t allowed to come back to the theatre? Her mind was so filled with ‘what-ifs’ that she barely smelled the pungent horseradish odor that permeated the air.

 

 

  
Olaf paced back and forth in the lobby of the theatre, glancing up at every creak as he hoped it was the door. Each time it wasn’t, he growled in frustration. He looked at his watch and huffed.

“You all right, Boss?” the hook-handed man asked.

“What if that Dr. Montgomery decided not to even meet with me? What if he’s not letting her near her inventions?” Olaf snapped.

“They’re probably just running a little late.” The hook-handed man shrugged.

Olaf stopped pacing and looked at his colleague. “You don’t think something bad’s happened, do you?”

Before the hook-handed man could even answer, the doors to the theatre opened and in walked Violet and her guardian.

Olaf had to hold himself back from running to Violet and picking her up in a hug. Instead, he smiled brightly at the young girl, who returned with a grin just as heartwarming.

Olaf was surprised how much he had missed Violet’s sweet face. Her voice was a treasure in and of itself when she called, but to see her again after so many weeks was thrilling to him. He tried to keep his attention on her lovely face. Her bright eyes shone when they locked with his, and he felt happy that she was happy to see him.

“Miss Violet Baudelaire,” he said with a dramatic bow. “How are we today?”

“Just fine, thank you, Count Olaf,” she replied with an equally dramatic curtsey.

Count Olaf smiled once more but then drew his attention to Violet’s guardian. His eyes widened in surprise. “Monty!”

“Olaf, what a genuine surprise!” Uncle Monty’s face brightened. “You’re the manager of the theatre?”

Olaf’s chest puffed out in a bit of pride. “Acting current manager and the director of the production that’s playing now. And the commissioner of Violet’s wonderful invention.”

Violet’s cheeks warmed at the interaction. “So you do know each other?”

“Oh, yes. We knew each other from long ago,” Uncle Monty said. “We met through your parents, actually.”

“Through the many parties they held,” Olaf added. “When you said his name, Violet, I couldn’t remember, but far be it from me to ever forget someone’s face.”

Uncle Monty chuckled. He looked down at Violet. “Do you think it would be fine if I had a chat with Count Olaf in private?”

Violet looked up in concern, but Uncle Monty gave a discretionary wink. Violet brightened again and nodded.

“Excellent! We can talk in the manager’s office,” Olaf said as he clapped his hands together. He made a dramatic gesture towards a door off to the side of the will-call office, and Uncle Monty stepped forward. Olaf followed and turned around to face Violet. As he closed the door, he winked at the girl, which caused her to chuckle at his charms.

“I’m sure it’ll all go well,” the hook-handed man said to Violet.

Violet tore her gaze away from the closed door through which Uncle Monty and Olaf disappeared. “They certainly seemed to get on.” Violet walked over to the hook-handed man. “At least, that was my first impression of the both of them.”

The hook-handed man clasped his hooks around the backs of two chairs from a corner and pulled them over to Violet. She sat with him.

“Well, I don’t know a lot about the club that Olaf was in, but I believe they met through that,” the hook-handed man offered.

Violet sat up in interest. “What do you know about it?”

The hook-handed man sucked on his teeth and cocked his head in thought. “I can’t remember the name of it, but the initials were V, F, and D,” he replied.

“V, F, D,” Violet repeated quietly.

“You know,” the man said suddenly. “I’m glad you met Count Olaf.”

Violet blinked at his confession. “Really? Why?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. “When he came back from his tour, he was kind of down, you know?” Violet stayed quiet. “There’s a sort of high that comes with performing, and he was coming off of it. Then he met you.”

Violet scoffed. “I still don’t know how I might have helped him,” she said.

“You came along and he became interested in performing again. I was worried that he was getting burnt out, but the performances since you met, they’ve been better than ever, honestly,” the man explained.

Violet blushed heavily and looked at the floor. All she could say was, “Oh.”

“In fact, he’s been his best the performances after whenever you called him. It was almost like you gave him new energy when you spoke to him,” the hook-handed man cheerfully admitted. “And just today, he was going on and on about how he hoped you could come to the theatre more often.”

Violet jerked her head up to the hook-handed man. “To see…to see me?”

The hook-handed man smiled brightly and nodded. “Yep. He enjoys your company.”

That piece of information burned into her mind and echoed off the walls of her heart. Olaf enjoyed being around her?

“But I’m just a girl. Why would he want me around?” Violet asked quietly.

“Well, for one thing, he thinks you’re insanely clever and have a lot of smart things to say,” he replied.

“Is that all?”

The hook-handed man paused. “And he just likes you.”

Violet felt a warm glow spread throughout her body. Olaf actually liked her. He didn’t have to like her, he just did. As she thought about what the hook-handed man had said, she felt the inexplicable urge to jump up, run into the manager’s office, and hug Olaf tightly. She imagined how it would feel to embrace Olaf: he was thin and tall, so she imagined it would feel like hugging a sentient tree. He was, after all, rooted in her past and was one of the only things connecting to her present, Violet imagined that he would be warm underneath her touch and that he would fold his long arms around her small body and bring her tighter to himself.

The door to the manager’s office opened and both men exited, the shadows of laughter plastered on their faces. Violet and the hook-handed man stood.

“Well, Violet,” Uncle Monty said. Violet approached her guardian expectantly. She glanced at Olaf, who was standing next to Uncle Monty with his arms comfortably crossed.

“Can I build my invention here?” Violet asked.

Uncle Monty smiled warmly. “Of course you can. I know I feel so much better with Count Olaf being here, seeing as I already know him, so I don’t see why you couldn’t come here a few times a week to work on your invention,” he said.

Violet gasped excitedly. “Thank you, Uncle Monty! Thank you!” She sprang at her guardian and hugged him.

“Olaf thinks he has all the tools you’ll need, but if not, he said he would be happy to take you to get whatever you needed,” Uncle Monty added.

Violet stepped away, her cheeks hurting from how much she was smiling. She looked over to Olaf, whose expression was, on the surface, pleasant but very excited underneath.

With her newfound knowledge about Olaf that the hook-handed man had offered, she sent Olaf a grin that she felt was filled with a new understanding of each other. “That would be very kind of you, Count Olaf. Thank you,” she said.

Olaf bent down a bit and looked her in the eye. “You are so very welcome, Miss Violet Baudelaire. Although is it any surprise that I would want this device built with the very best tools available? And with the best inventor at the helm of the project?”

“We also wouldn’t want her to get too tired out,” Uncle Monty added. “How does three days a week sound, Violet? I could bring you here after lunch and then you come home around 8:00.”

Violet nodded. “That sounds great!”

“I was also thinking that today after we have breakfast, Count Olaf could give you a tour around the theatre so you can see what tools they have around and what you might need.” Uncle Monty smiled. Beside him, Count Olaf wiggled his single brow at Violet. “I have some business I need to attend to at the Herpetological Society that might take a few hours. Is that all right?”

Violet could not believe her luck. This was an incredibly pleasant surprise, as she was not expecting to be able to spend time with Olaf so soon. She beamed at her guardian, and for the first time since her parents’ death, she felt that things were finally beginning to go her way again.

“That would be wonderful, Uncle Monty. Thank you,” she said as she moved forward to embrace Uncle Monty, who chastely hugged her back.

“Dr. Montgomery,” Olaf interrupted. Violet and Uncle Monty looked at the impresario. “If you need to get on with your business, I would be more than happy to escort Miss Baudelaire to a cafe for a bite.”

Violet’s eyes sparkled at the suggestion, and she turned to look at Uncle Monty’s expression. He smiled graciously. “Well, I believe that would be up to Violet, wouldn’t it?”

“Can I?” Violet asked.

Uncle Monty clasped Violet’s hand in his. “Of course you can.” He reached into his pocket. “I’ll leave you with some money—“

Count Olaf held up his hand and stepped forward. “That won’t be necessary, Monty.”

“Oh, but surely—“

“One of the privileges of being a fabulously famous and handsome actor is being able to treat fans to a meal or two,” Olaf cut across Uncle Monty. He winked once again in Violet’s direction.

Uncle Monty chuckled. “I was never able to argue with you, Olaf.”

“Well, except for that one time…”

“Oh, yes. But everyone was arguing then.” Uncle Monty turned his attention back to Violet. “Well, I’ll be off then. I’ll be back around 2:00 to pick you up,” he said.

“Thank you, Uncle Monty,” Violet called after him as he waved and left the theatre.

Once the door to the theatre closed behind her guardian, Violet spun around to Olaf, who was standing tall with his hands clasped behind his back and a mischievous expression on his face.

“How did you convince him?” she asked.

Olaf shrugged. “I think you’ll find I’m a rather charming individual.” He leaned over and lowered his voice. “We also both agree that you are the cleverest girl that either of us has ever met.”

Violet grinned modestly. “Yes, and your knowing each other had absolutely nothing to do with it,” she said sarcastically.

Olaf shrugged again. “Well, that helped also.” Olaf stood straight again. “Hooky,” he called to his colleague. “Gather the troupe together and bring out as many tools as you can find onto the stage.” Olaf smiled at Violet. “I’m going to go have breakfast.”

“You got it, boss,” the hook-handed man replied and went straight to the door leading backstage.

Olaf crooked his arm and offered it to Violet. “Miss Baudelaire,” he addressed her dramatically.

Violet giggled and hooked her arm in his and placed her other hand on top of his arm.

Olaf immediately glanced down at the additional placement of her hand. She didn’t have to do that: she _wanted_ to touch him. Her soft, small hand was feather-light against his bony arm, and he wished that his jacket sleeve was not preventing him from feeling the smooth touch of her palm. He wished he had offered her his hand to hold, but it was too late for that.

“Where are we going?” Violet asked.

Olaf breathed a contented sigh. “If I recall correctly, there’s a wonderful little cafe around the corner whose croissants are only rivaled by the second-best cafe in Paris,” he explained. He led the girl out of the theatre and started heading down the street.

“You’ve been to Paris?” Violet asked.

“I went to nearly every European capital on my seven-year tour,” Olaf boasted.

Violet sighed. “I’ve only heard Klaus talk about Paris from all his books.” She tugged on Olaf’s arm. “What’s it like?”

Olaf chuckled. “Honestly?” Violet nodded. “Overrated.” Violet gasped in fake offense. “It truly is. I don’t see why it’s called the City of Love or whatever. Wasn’t very romantic to me.”

“All right, then,” Violet said. “Which city was the most romantic one?”

Olaf stopped walking and looked up in thought. He lowered his arms to his sides and put one of his hands in his pockets. “London.”

Violet chuckled. “Why London? It’s supposed to be cold and rainy there all the time. Or, at least that’s what Klaus has said.”

Olaf smirked. “It is,” he replied. “And that’s why it’s romantic.” He looked straight ahead, his eyes glazing over in memory. “It’ll be around sunset, but you wouldn’t know it, because it’s been overcast all day. The sky turns a deep, rich slate blue, and you know the clouds are heavy with rain. It’s like they’ve been waiting all day to tell a secret, and when you feel the first cold drops of water, the clouds spill their secret and don’t stop. They whisper it all around you as the drops hit the pavement and roofs and awnings. The street lamps come on. Pale orange against a dark backdrop, with the rain turning white underneath the light. And when you look around at the people, they’re all running to their buses or taxis, trying to get out of the wetness. And as you make your way home, the secrets are told well into the night, and you can fall asleep to that soft, reassuring sound that you feel is only meant for you.”

Violet blinked when she realized Olaf had stopped speaking. His words took her back to the night she had dinner with him and his troupe. It was raining then, just like he had described. She recalled how she had looked at him after he had called for a taxi: he was her knight in shining armor, then, and it had been absolutely… romantic. She wanted that night and that feeling again. “I want to go,” she murmured before thinking.

Olaf turned to look at her, his expression nostalgic. “Well, maybe one day you’ll get to go.” He gestured for Violet to continue walking with him.

They turned a corner. Violet looked down at Olaf’s limp hand and took a deep breath. She reached up to clasp Olaf’s hand in hers, and she met his surprised eyes when he looked down to see what she had done. “I’d only want to go if you’re performing in London. I think it would be fascinating,” she said. What she hoped he had understood subtextually was her saying, _“I would only want to go with you.”_

Olaf’s heart fluttered in his ribcage, like a bird begging to be released. He felt his ears grow hot as he realized he had gotten what he wished for. Her hand fit perfectly into his own like they were always meant to hold each other’s hand forever.

This scared Olaf. Why was he feeling this way? Especially towards this young girl? He shouldn’t want to hold her hand, much less kiss it as he did all those weeks before. Oh, God, now he was thinking about kissing: it dawned on him how much he wanted to actually kiss Violet. He immediately became disgusted with himself. No, he couldn’t keep holding her hand.

Olaf released Violet’s hand and placed it on her opposite shoulder. “Well, I am working on a brand new play. If it goes on tour, I’ll be sure to book a performance in London.”

Violet glanced at Olaf’s hand on her shoulder, and her heart dropped about his rejection of their hand-holding.

 

 

  
Olaf became increasingly impressed with Violet’s aptitude for building and handiwork. She was able to identify which tools she would need and which she needed to get, as she had admitted to committing her father’s toolbox to memory, along with all of their uses.

She had frowned and said, “I’m sorry for not knowing what else to get, but I need my notebook with me to know that.”

He had laughed and said not to worry. Far be it from him to criticize someone who was so learned in their field. Perhaps he would have done so before the schism, and, if the schism had been nastier, he probably would have done it then.

Seeing Monty with Violet caused him to recall the schism. He desperately wanted to explain everything to Violet, including exactly how he knew her parents and how they were all pushed together at a young age in the enigmatic organization that even he never truly understood. All he knew was that he had been able to slowly distance himself from anything V.F.D. related, as it only brought back nightmares of a man with a beard but no hair and a woman with hair but no beard coming to him and propositioning him during the schism. Those two had always sent a shiver up his spine, especially because they had come at a very vulnerable time in his life.

Olaf thought about all of this and more as he witnessed Violet interact with his troupe from the front row seats of the theatre as though she were putting on a show. Was she too young to be involved in the politics of the organization that her parents were grooming her for? In that aspect, Olaf was glad that Monty was her guardian: it was all on Monty to tell or not tell.

Olaf crossed his legs and steepled his hands underneath his chin. He admired Violet’s mannerisms: when she was thinking, she furrowed her brow, making her look very melancholy. She chewed her pen when she was making a decision, and she smiled and hummed when she finally made one. He chuckled at her enthusiasm. She was a very endearing girl.

_She’s…cute_ , he allowed himself to think. _Like Kit_ , his subconscious whispered to him. He suddenly felt very hot after thinking that and suddenly seeing Violet bend down over a toolbox, exposing more of her milky legs. However, instead of chastising himself about comparing her to his first crush, he pondered on it more.

Violet was certainly very much like Kit, as both were extremely bright and charming. Olaf cocked his head. Did he only like Violet because she reminded him of Kit?

Violet disappeared backstage to come around and meet Olaf on the front row. His troupe took the unapproved tools back to their respective locations.

“I made a list of everything I need so far,” she said when she got closer to Olaf. She stood over him in the row of chairs, paper in hand. “I think I’ll be able to get everything. Where’s a hardware store near here?” she asked.

Olaf studied her inquisitive face. He held out his hand. “I’ll find everything, Violet,” he said before he knew what he was offering.

In shock, Violet opened and closed her mouth. “Oh, no, I couldn’t let you do that,” she said. She held the list closer to her.

Olaf stood and gently took the list from her hand. “I want to. I’ll just put it on the theatre expenses.” He smirked.

Violet grinned and lowered her voice. “Are you sure? Isn’t that kind of—“

“Questionable?” Olaf shrugged. “Maybe. But do you need these things?”

“Yes, but—“

“Then, worry not, Miss Baudelaire. It is quite literally and figuratively out of your hands,” Olaf said, waving the list back and forth.

Violet sighed happily. “Thank you. You don’t have to do that.”

Olaf smiled and took up one of Violet’s hands in his own and placed his other on top of it. “I think I do,” he countered. “I am, after all, your charming and handsome knight in shining armor.” He bowed deeply and kissed Violet’s knuckle. He shocked himself with the gesture, but he went with it.

He allowed his lips to linger on Violet’s hand for a second longer than was probably appropriate, but she did not snatch her hand away. When he stood straight, his shiny eyes met hers, and they stared at each other with earnest and curiosity. Without meaning to, he stepped closer to the girl, glancing at her lips. He realized just then how pink and full they were. They begged to be caught up in a tender kiss, but he restrained himself.

Violet’s limp fingers began to wrap themselves around Olaf’s palm, and their palms radiated heat off of each other. He felt the tips of Violet’s fingers from her other hand over his rough knuckles.

“Violet!” Uncle Monty’s voice sounded from the lobby.

She took Olaf’s hand off of her own. “I should go,” she murmured. She stepped backward.

Olaf’s heart sank when they parted each other’s touch. “Why don’t you call me when you’ve made another list of things you need?” he suggested. He wanted another excuse to hear her voice.

“Of course,” Violet replied with a sweet smile. “Thank you, again, Olaf.” She began to walk to the lobby, leaving Olaf planted firmly in his spot and pining after her soft touch once again. He found himself addicted to her presence, and he thanked every supernatural being he could think of for allowing Monty to let her come to the theatre.

When the door to the theatre closed and separated him from Violet, he sighed and carefully placed the list into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I do not own "A Series of Unfortunate Events." Everything in and pertaining to the ASOUE universe belongs solely to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> It's a slow-burn (if you can't tell) but we're gonna get there eventually!! Slow and steady wins the race! If you want, leave a kudos or a comment. I'd love to discuss stuff with you!!! :)


	8. Simultaneous Satisfaction

That night, Violet was still on cloud nine after getting a start on her invention at the theatre. She had gushed about it all to Klaus and Sunny, who had, in turn, shared their enthusiasm for their sister’s work.

What Violet did not share was her final interaction with Count Olaf before Uncle Monty had come to pick her up. As far as she knew, no one in the theatre had seen it, not even Uncle Monty. Violet knew that if he had seen Olaf’s gesture, Uncle Monty would have snatched up Violet and taken her back home without ever letting her go back.

Violet knew that what had happened was slightly inappropriate, but in the deepest part of her soul, she enjoyed it and wished it had continued.

As Violet got dressed for bed and slid under the covers, she pondered on her emotions toward this enigmatic impresario who had expressed such an interest in her. She admitted to herself that she had had a slight crush on him that had blossomed each time they called or talked to each other. He had been so kind to her, despite his rather ragged appearance. She imagined that, in another life, he might have been a cruel man filled with bitterness. Violet, however, was glad that she was not in _that_ life. She was in this one, where her heart ached with a deep pining over this man, who was most definitely three times her age.

Violet switched off her lamp and laid in the darkness of her room, only the smallest amount of light shining in through her window from the waxing moon. In the silence, she could hear Olaf’s voice ringing in her ears: _“I am, after all, your charming and handsome knight in shining armor…”_ She breathed out upon remembering the pet name she had inadvertently given Olaf. The fact that he had embraced it warmed her cheeks. And he was right: he _was_ charming and handsome.

She touched the back of the hand Olaf had kissed, the memory of his lips seared into her mind’s eye. Violet had, in turn, folded her hand around his; it was almost her way of saying that she did not mind his closeness.

Violet shut her eyes, intending to relax and drift off to sleep. Instead, she held onto the memory of Olaf gazing at her. She dragged her hand down to her side and slowly brought it on top of her thigh.

Violet then imagined what she had desperately wished Olaf would have done in that moment: she envisioned the actor snatching her up into a passionate kiss.

A chill ran down Violet’s body, and she jerked her hand towards the hem of her pajama bottoms. She imagined how Olaf felt against her body, how he tasted against her lips, how he desperately breathed her name in between kisses. _“Violet,”_ he whispered, desire coating his soft voice.

A heady feeling began to manifest between Violet’s thighs and she felt herself getting warmer all over. Her eyes still closed, she inched her fingers down her pajama bottoms and under the hem of her panties. Her index and third finger hovered over her slit in self-control; Violet wanted to envision something that would finally push her to touch herself.

Violet imagined Olaf placing both of his hands on either side of her face, her hands grabbing his wrists. He paused to breathe, his forehead resting on Violet’s. He kissed the bridge of her nose before hissing, _“Violet Baudelaire…”_ Violet shivered at her imagined Olaf enunciating her name. _“You will be the death of me, my dear.”_

It was the way he always said her name, whether it was her given or her surname. Violet reached down to find her clit. She had only masturbated a few times, but not to anyone she actually knew. When she brushed the pad of her finger over the fleshy nub, her breath hitched as her toes curled. She found that her pleasure was heightened when she thought of Olaf.

She took a deep breath and continued her vision. Olaf snaked his hand into her panties and she imagined Olaf touching her the way she was fondling herself. Violet bit her lip to keep from moaning in response to the amount of pleasure that was filling her up. She ran her two fingers back and forth over her clit, her imagined Olaf mimicking her movements.

 _“Violet,”_ he murmured. _“Dear, sweet Violet Baudelaire.”_

“Olaf,” she whispered aloud as if to respond to him. She could envision the way he might look in such a scenario: his half-lidded eyes with pupils blown out in lust; his lips parted, showing his teeth as they clenched every now and again in concentration; a vein pulsing in his neck beneath his hot and reddened skin. Oh, God, Violet did not think she had ever come up with such an arousing picture in her mind as this.

Her motions quickened as her pleasure mounting, building up quickly to a precipice. She stifled a moan, which then led her to imagine that she was hearing Olaf’s own moans, his guttural growls thick with desire.

This sent her over the edge with a gasp, her strongest orgasm to date ravaging through her young body. She arched her back and grabbed a fistful of the sheets in her free hand as a whimper squeezed from her throat.

In the aftermath, Violet was unable to move, her energy spent. She finally opened her eyes, and stars danced in front of her vision as she realized how tight she had squeezed her eyes closed. The dots swam away, allowing her to view the dark ceiling of her room. It was almost too quiet, and Violet was embarrassed to think that someone might have heard her.

Violet took her hand away from her panties and rolled over to grab a tissue from her nightstand. She cleaned her hand quickly and laid back down in case Klaus or Uncle Monty came bursting in to ask what was going on.

She looked up at her clock. It read 11:30, and that was the last thing Violet remembered before closing her eyes to sleep.

 

 

  
Olaf staggered to his apartment door, only pausing a moment to take the last swig from his hip flask. He had started drinking before the curtain rose for his performance that night, and he was honestly surprised how well he had been able to act that night, because every time he went offstage, he got a drink.

Olaf attempted to shove the flask into his inner jacket pocket, although it took him quite a few tries. He fished his keys from his pocket but dropped them.

“Fuck,” he slurred, clasping around for them. The hallway was spinning for him, but it was nothing he could not fix with another drink, he reasoned.

He finally unlocked his door and stumbled through. He shed his jacket and kicked it into a corner along with his shoes. He threw himself onto his dingy couch and reached behind him to turn on his lamp.

Olaf sighed and blinked a few times, his blurred vision trained on the ceiling. The more he relaxed, the more he could feel how his muscles and bones ached from exhaustion. He was sure that, without the alcohol he had, he would be groaning in agony.

Olaf suddenly recalled what he had experienced earlier that day. He had gone out on a limb and had a bit of an intimate moment with Violet Baudelaire.

The corner of his mouth turned upward when he thought of her name. “Violet,” he murmured aloud.

The way Violet had looked at him when he kissed her hand was unlike any expression he had ever seen. Of course, he was an experienced lover and had been plenty of women’s first loves, but _Violet_ … Her lips had parted in soft surprise as if no one had ever before afforded her this type of attention. Her brilliant, curious eyes studied his own expression, and her eyebrows settled as if she had found something she had been looking for. Perhaps Violet _was_ looking for something. Olaf could not say.

And then, Violet had taken his hand. She responded in the last way she would expect, and it had taken all of Olaf’s self-control and strength not to kiss her cherry blossom lips right there in that theatre.

Olaf rolled his shoulders, and he suddenly became attuned to his body once again. He sat up slightly, and the friction of his underwear against his cock sent sparks of arousal up his body. He looked down and noticed he was half hard from the thought of that afternoon with Violet.

Olaf let his head fall back in annoyance. “Oh, fucking hell,” he hissed at himself. He brought his hands up and rubbed his face. “She’s a kid, you fucking idiot.” Much to his chagrin, his cock twitched up at his admittance to the knowledge that Violet was, indeed, still a child.

 _But she’s a damn mature kid_ , he reasoned to himself.

Olaf huffed and sat up straight again, his mind still fuzzy. He reached down into the cushion of his couch to grab another bottle of alcohol that he had stashed. He took a long drink and held it close to him.

How would he be able to face Violet if he…. Olaf shuddered. He _knew_ it was not even right to put her name and the word ‘masturbate’ into the same sentence. He had never known himself to beat about the bush when it came to his carnal desires, but it was this desire that he knew could get him into a world of trouble.

 _No one would know if I did it just this once_ , he thought. That, he decided, was all the encouragement he needed.

Olaf stood from the couch, a bit wobbly from his drunkenness. He dragged himself to his bedroom, the alcohol still tightly grasped in his hand. He undressed (rather clumsily) and took a swig before he set the bottle down on his nightstand. Olaf settled himself onto his bed, fully nude with his cock halfway up.

Olaf spat on his hand and gripped his cock, a sharp hiss escaping between his teeth as the thick arousal came creeping over him. He shut his eyes, Violet appearing in his mind’s eye as she looked earlier that day. Her lips begging to be kissed, her short dress exposing her milky legs, and her delicate hand wont to be wrapped around his dick.

Olaf hardened at that, and he began to stroke his throbbing member. He felt all of his body heat travel to his core the more he stimulated himself.

He smoothed his thumb over his purpling tip, and a moan caught in his throat as he bucked his hips into his hand.

He wished to know how Violet would look stripped down and beneath him, begging him to fuck her—no, that was too vulgar. Olaf wanted to make love to her. Oh, God, how would his cock feel buried in her little virgin cunt? He could practically see her pretty mouth open in absolute lust…

Olaf pumped harder, precum leaking from his tip as he felt everything building within him. The image of her taking his cock was nearly too much, but he denied himself an orgasm just yet. He wanted this to last.

“Violet,” he moaned, desperate to envelop every syllable of her heavenly name. “God, _Violet…_ ”

What would Violet sound like, Olaf pondered. He envisioned her calling out to him and muttering his name like a prayer. _“Olaf_ ,” her meek voice cried out to him in his vision. “ _Please, Olaf, make me cum_.”

“Oh, fucking _Christ_!” Olaf growled. He jerked his hand back and forth over his dick, his desire to release nearly unbearable now. He loved the idea of Violet saying such things to him.

He would want to make Violet cum all over him as he took her virginity, claiming her as his very own little Violet Baudelaire. God, the sounds she could make, the way she would feel convulsing beneath his body, and her pussy clenching around him. It would be the most beautiful sight he could ever hope to behold. It would be music to his ears for her scream his name over and over as she orgasmed harder than she ever had previously in her inexperienced life.

His balls clenched and Olaf growled, “Violet!” through his teeth. He bucked into his hand as he orgasmed, his cum shooting out over his hand and bare chest.

Olaf caught his breath laid still for a few moments, trying to let himself gradually come back together. A light sheen of sweat covered his brow, and his cheeks flushed even though the room was rather chilly.

Olaf rolled his head over to look at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was 11:30. He normally stayed up well into the wee hours of the night, but tonight, he was exhausted. He decided that Violet Baudelaire would most definitely and inevitably (whatever that word meant) be his undoing.

 

 

  
Violet woke up to the morning light flooding through her window. She stretched and felt her bones pop. She felt good that morning.

Violet’s eyes suddenly shot open, the sleep fog clearing immediately. She had masturbated to Count Olaf last night. She groaned and buried her face in her pillow. She had gone and masturbated to a man she barely knew who most definitely did _not_ like her like that and who only wanted to help her with her invention. She felt filthy, but she knew that no matter how many times she scrubbed herself in a shower, she would not feel clean.

 _How can I ever face him?_ Violet thought. It would be far too embarrassing to see Olaf and know that he had been in a starring role as her masturbatory figure. Thankfully, today was not a day where she was going to go to the theatre. She had at least a few days to remove herself from her actions.

Quick knocking at her door caused Violet to jump in near panic. “Yes?” she tried to call out normally. Klaus, still in his pajamas, came into her room.

Immediately, Klaus’ brows furrowed. “Are you all right, Violet? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he asked.

Violet sat up in bed, her pounding heart subsiding from the shock. “Of course, Klaus. You just startled me.” She put on a comforting smile.

“After breakfast, Uncle Monty wants us to review the homeschool curriculum he’s picking out for us,” Klaus explained excitedly. “He’s even promised that he’ll order some extra books for me!”

Violet smiled brighter. “Klaus, that’s wonderful! I’ll get Sunny and I’ll be right down.”

Klaus nodded happily and trotted out of Violet’s room. As soon as he was out of her eyesight, her face dropped again. She could tell it was going to be hell to try and forget the previous night’s events.

Violet brought Sunny out of her room and took her downstairs for breakfast. It was indeed a marvelous breakfast with poached eggs and fried potatoes, but Violet absolutely could not eat. She picked around her plate to make it look like she had eaten.

At 8:00 on the dot, the kitchen phone rang. Uncle Monty stood, saying, “I wonder who that could be.” He answered the phone. “Hello? Ah, yes! How are you? That’s wonderful to hear. Yes, she’s right here.” Uncle Monty took the phone away from his mouth. “There’s a call for you, Violet. You can use the hall phone for some privacy if you like.”

Violet froze. _Oh, God,_ she thought. _Please don’t be Olaf right now._ She stood and made her way out of the kitchen and into the hall. She picked up the receiver and sighed before she brought it up.

“Hello?” she said.

A loud coughing fit erupted on the other line, and Violet jerked the phone away at the volume at which it happened. She waited until it finished before saying, “Hello, Mr. Poe.”

Mr. Poe cleared his throat, “Oh, Violet. How did you know it was me?”

Violet paused, wishing it was a joke but knowing that it was not. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”

“Yes, well, how are you, Miss Baudelaire? Adjusting well to your new guardian?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, I am. Uncle Monty is very nice.”

“Good, good, good. I would love to have a nice, long, friendly chat about Dr. Montgomery, but I’m afraid that’s not why I’ve called.”

Violet’s brows knitted together. “What’s wrong?”

Mr. Poe dryly coughed before saying, “There’s been a development in your parents’ will. We don’t know what, yet, but I don’t want you to worry.”

“Is it bad?” Violet asked.

“No.”

“Is it good?”

“No.”

Violet huffed. “Sir, with all due respect, how can it be neither bad nor good?”

“We don’t know if it’s a bad or good development simply because we don’t have all of the information yet. We will soon, so don’t you worry,” Mr. Poe replied.

“So, you called me to tell me that something’s happened with my parents’ will, and you don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t want me to worry?” Violet summed up as politely as she could.

“Precisely, Miss Baudelaire!” Mr. Poe said enthusiastically.

“Why didn’t you wait until you had all of the information to tell me that there’s been a development?” Violet asked.

“Oh, Violet, I wish I could stay on the phone and answer all of the questions you have, but I’m simply too busy a man to do so. It really was wonderful to speak with you again, Miss Baudelaire,” Mr. Poe said.

“Likewise, Mr. Poe.” Violet sighed again.

“Good-bye,” Mr. Poe’s curt response was followed by a click and then the dial tone.

Violet placed the phone back on its receiver. The more she interacted with that man, the more insufferable he became in her eyes.

“Who was that?” Klaus asked as he came around the corner, Sunny on his hip.

Violet sighed and rolled her eyes. “Mr. Poe.”

“What did he want? Is everything all right?”

“Aget,” Sunny babbled, meaning, “It sounded like he was being a dick again.”

“Sunny, language,” Violet chastised. Violet looked up at her brother, his expression riddled with concern. The last thing she wanted was to worry him or Sunny. “Everything’s fine. Mr. Poe just wanted to see how we were getting along with Uncle Monty. That’s all.”

Violet hoped that Klaus bought the lie; she wanted to speak with Uncle Monty about it first before she brought concern to her siblings.

Klaus examined Violet. “You know that if there’s anything wrong, we can handle it together. We don’t have to suffer alone,” he said.

“Everything is fine, Klaus. Nothing to worry about. I promise,” Violet added to her fib.

Klaus nodded, seemingly believing Violet. “Let’s go see what Uncle Monty wanted us to go over. Then maybe we could help you with whatever you need for your invention!” Klaus smiled and readjusted Sunny on his hip.

As Klaus turned to lead the way to Uncle Monty’s office, Violet lagged behind, her stomach dropping at the thought of her invention and the memory of last night. She shuddered and tried to push the memory far away.

 

 

  
Olaf forced his heavy eyelids open and groaned at his pounding headache. He rolled onto his side which made him realize that he was still naked from the previous night. He did remember going to wash up before bed, but everything else from the night before was a blur.

Most of everything.

Olaf covered his face and growled. He remembered that he had masturbated to Violet Baudelaire. And it was actually pleasurable.

The fact that he enjoyed it sickened him the most. He was not supposed to be attracted to Violet. Hell, he should not have even entertained the thought. But now, if there was a hell, he knew that he was headed straight for it.

Olaf sat up on the edge of the bed, his headache worsening with the motion. He groaned once more and looked at the clock. He had slept until 1:00 in the afternoon. It was not the latest Olaf had ever slept, but it was impressive.

Olaf stood to go to his bathroom. He aimed his flaccid cock towards the toilet and began to relieve himself.

He prided himself on the fact that he was rather impressive in size and length. Olaf was above-average, and he knew because he had always gotten such remarks from his previous sexual partners. He looked at his cock, recalling how he had finally acknowledged that he wanted to feel Violet’s cunt around it. _A disgusting thought_ , he forced himself to think.

Olaf dressed slowly as though he were in a daze. His masturbation session was all he could think about and how it felt both wrong and right. He had never before felt guilt over something like this, but then again, Violet was not just _anyone_.

 _No one can ever know_ , he chanted to himself mentally. _No one_ will _ever know_. All he had to do was forget about it and move on.

Olaf made his way into his living area and began to search for something to make his headache subside. He picked up his jacket that he discarded last night and searched the pockets. His fingers latched onto a paper, and he pulled it out to look at it. He squinted at the complicated words, and that was when he realized that it was Violet’s list.

Olaf groaned and let his head fall back. At their next meeting, how was he going to be able to face her? He was just a dirty old ( _handsome_ , he added) man who masturbated to teen girls. And not just any teenage girl: Violet specifically. It was going to be awkward as hell.

An idea came to Olaf rather suddenly. He could call Violet with some fake questions about the list she gave him, and then the awkwardness would fizzle out before her next theatre session. Olaf smiled at his cleverness. It was an absolute fool-proof plan.

 

 

  
Violet volunteered to clean up after lunch while Sunny was down for a nap and Klaus and Uncle Monty were outside in the garden with several botany books. This gave her time to think about her invention and the mechanics of it. She had tied her hair up with her ribbon, which she found to be most helpful when coming up with machines or devices.

As she washed the dishes, her mind threatened to bring up Olaf again, but she was not going to have it. She simply would have to train herself to block it out.

The phone suddenly rang and Violet dried her hands and answered the kitchen phone. “Hello?” she said.

“Why, Miss Violet Baudelaire!” Count Olaf said through the line. “Just the clever girl I wanted to speak to!”

“Count Olaf,” Violet addressed him, shocked. “How did you get this number?”

“Monty gave it to me. Duh,” Olaf said sarcastically.

Violet nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry.” Violet swallowed thickly and ignored the hot feeling of embarrassment in her cheeks. “Is there something I can do for you?” She shut her eyes at her choice of words.

“Yes, actually.” Olaf paused for a second. “These wrench thingies you have on your list. Are they metric or normal?”

Violet could not help but smile. “You mean metric or imperial?”

“I don’t see what emperors have to do with anything,” Olaf remarked.

Violet chuckled. “No, the imperial system of measurement is what Americans use. Or, rather, we use an evolved form of it.”

“Hm,” Olaf uttered. “Well, then, are the wrenches metric or ‘emperical?’”

“It’s the American system,” Violet replied. “You know you don’t have to get these things. Uncle Monty would take me to get them, you know.”

Olaf laughed. “Oh, no, my dear Violet. I am determined to keep you satisfied.”

Violet froze. Her ears went hot and something twinged in her lower regions. There was a pause on Olaf’s end, so his phrase hung in the air between them.

“With your device,” Olaf added quickly, realizing his mistake, but lightly groaning as he made it worse. Violet started to say something, but Olaf added louder, “Invention! I mean, satisfied with your time at the theatre building your invention.”

Violet let out a small, “Mm-hm,” as she tried to get her heart to stop beating wildly. She actually thought she was about to faint until Olaf spoke again.

“Well, I’m going out to get your tools.”

“I won’t keep you,” Violet chuckled uncomfortably. She nearly talked over him, but she was eager to get off the phone and away from the conversation.

“I’ll see you in a few days, then,” Olaf said.

Violet nodded, even though he could not see her. “Ok, good-bye, Count Olaf.” She slammed the phone onto the receiver.

If she did not have such a crush on Olaf, Violet was sure that she would not have even gone back to see him. As it was, after three days, she found herself in Uncle Monty’s jeep and on her way to the theatre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "A Series of Unfortunate Events." All rights to ASOUE belong to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> Finally, another chapter. I'm so sorry this story is taking longer than I planned. You may have noticed a slight change under the chapter numbers, as I now know that there will need to be thirteen chapters to tell this story. Also, I've got another story planned so stay tuned for that one.
> 
> Any comments or kudos would be majorly appreciated!! I love talking with you guys!


	9. The Ardent Admission

The first few days Violet returned to the theatre to work on her invention were filled with tension so thick, one could cut it with a knife. She was very cordial and formal toward Olaf and his troupe to the point where even she thought she was acting rather cold. It was not fair to Olaf to ignore him when she was the one who was ashamed of masturbating to him. She decided that she would rekindle her friendship with the actor only a week following her faux pas.

As Violet made progress on her invention, she noticed that Olaf began to watch her work more and more. Some days, out of the corner of her eye, she would see him sitting in the costume area and quietly observing her while he had a few drinks. Every now and again, she would look up and smile, sometimes asking him to pass her a tool. She found this rather endearing and exhilarating. He was true to his word: he was truly interested in her proclivity towards machines and handiwork. She only wished she knew what was going through his head as he watched her.

Olaf found that watching Violet work was much like watching a play. Every move of hers seemed calculated and rehearsed, even when a bolt fell out of place or when she looked at her blueprint. Her actions flowed and slowly constructed the inner workings of this costume changer. He had no idea what Violet was doing mechanically, but to him, it did not matter. It was beautiful to watch.

A rainy day rolled around, but that did not stop Violet from coming into the theatre. Unfortunately, Olaf had not arrived yet, so the hook-handed man let Violet in. She shivered in the cool air of the theatre as it chilled her damp skin; she had dashed from Uncle Monty’s car through the rain, but she had still gotten wet despite her best efforts not to.

Violet went directly to her invention, but as she approached it, she stopped and shut her eyes. She had left her notebook sitting on her desk at home. She huffed at her forgetfulness and realized that Uncle Monty was probably on his way to the Herpetological Society by now. She would have to do without it today.

Violet tied her hair back with her ribbon and gathered the toolbox from backstage. When she knelt down to get to work, she found herself drawing a blank. She needed her blueprint.

“No, you can do this. Just try and remember what you did last time,” Violet murmured to herself. She sighed and started to work.

 

 

Olaf strolled into the theatre a little after 1:00. He had, once again, slept late. As he entered the theatre from the lobby, he heard tools crashing against the stage floor and a soft, “Damn it!” Olaf furrowed his brow and continued toward the stage.

A metallic thud sounded out, followed by, “Fucking _shit_!”

Olaf could not imagine that sweet little Violet Baudelaire knew such bad words, but it rather amused him to hear it. Well, it amused _and_ aroused him, just a little.

He crept up to the stage and listened a moment at the barrage of colorful language that seethed from Violet’s mouth.

“Miss Baudelaire?” he called out.

Violet gasped and dropped a tool. She scurried out from backstage, her face beet red. “Count Olaf! You’re here!”

“As long as there is breath in my lungs, I shall be at a theatre as often as I can,” he replied with a smirk. “How is…everything going, dear Violet?”

Violet had no time to blush and titter at his endearing term: her embarrassment was too great. “You heard all that?”

Olaf smiled devilishly and crooked his finger for her to get closer. She knelt down on the stage. “Who knew that the lovely, young Violet had such a sailor’s mouth? And one so easily unbridled, at that?”

Violet sighed and sat back on her knees. “I’m so sorry about that. I was just…” She paused, not knowing how to explain herself. She took down her hair ribbon and worried it between her fingers. As her long hair fell in front of her shoulders, she looked at Olaf, who appeared rather self-satisfied. He propped his chin on top of his fist.

“I forgot my notebook today, and it’s been nearly impossible to do my work without it. I’m usually good at holding a blueprint in my mind. I don’t know where my head is today.” Violet looked down in shame. “I suppose I’m not as clever as you think I am.”

Olaf suddenly stood up straight. “What?”

“Maybe I’m not as good as my parents told me I was,” she added.

“Violet Baudelaire, I will not have that kind of talk,” Olaf stated firmly. Violet looked up at him, her eyes watery and red. Olaf’s heart broke at the sight. He sighed. “You know how remarkable, talented, and dashing I am as an actor, yes?”

Violet playfully rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course.”

“My reviews say that I am ‘unparalleled in my generation’ and I am ‘riveting and exciting to watch.’” Olaf puffed up his chest. “They also say I’m rather pleasant to look at,” he added quietly. Violet chuckled lightly. “But I will say, even though it pains me to and it is something I could never, ever admit to my troupe, I have days where I don’t perform as well.”

“You? The great Count Olaf? Never!” Violet teased.

“Yes, yes, I know, my dear. As difficult as it may seem to believe, I have off-days. But, whenever I do, I always reread my outstanding reviews so I know that I am still the best actor to have ever walked the earth,” Olaf said.

“That’s easy for you. You actually have reviews to go off of. I don’t,” Violet reminded.

Olaf smiled at the corner of his mouth. “You have my review. And I say, ‘Violet Baudelaire is the smartest, cleverest, most genius inventor ever.’” Before he knew what he was doing, Olaf placed his hand on Violet’s knee and began to stroke her skin with his thumb.

Violet looked down at Olaf’s hand on her leg and blinked silently. She was in so much shock that she absolutely could not speak. Violet’s entire body burned numb, and the skin beneath his touch burned hot.

Olaf looked down and, noticing the placement of his hand, he quickly jerked it away and cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Count Olaf, for your advice,” Violet finally said.

Olaf changed the subject. “I’ve been working on a brand new play and I would like to sound off a few ideas to someone.” He paused. “Since you can’t work on your machine today, would you mind listening to my play?”

Violet beamed. “I would love to!”

Perhaps against her better judgment, Violet followed Olaf down a backstage corridor and into his dressing room. As he opened the door, he muttered, “Pardon the mess; it can get ‘hettic’ during performances.”

Violet stepped inside, surprised at how the big dressing room was very similar to the ones she had seen in films. “Hectic,” she corrected. It was rather chaotic, with clothes and bottles and newspapers and scripts scattered everywhere. It appeared to be productive chaos, however, much like when she would leave things strewn about while working on inventions or fixing things.

A very comfortable looking sofa caught her eye, so she sat down on it and made herself at home. She could lightly hear the soft pattering of the rain through the wall, which soothed her.

Olaf started to search through the clutter on his counter. Muttering to himself, he shifted a wig stand over and began filing through anything that was even paper-like.

Violet looked around. “It’s a very cozy room, isn’t it?”

Olaf chuckled. “It can get surprisingly cold. Especially when it’s raining. Just you wait,” he said, still looking.

As if on cue, Violet began to shiver as she adjusted to the cool air of the brick wall behind her. She gathered her legs up under the short skirt of her dress and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Aha!” Olaf exclaimed. He triumphantly held up a script for Violet to see. He frowned when he saw her predicament.

“You were right, Count Olaf,” Violet smiled. “It is a little cold.”

Olaf set his lips and began to look around the room. His eyes landed on his coat rack and he grabbed a spare sport jacket of his, brushed it off with his hand, and brought it over to Violet.

“Try this,” he said. When Violet took and donned the jacket, Olaf pulled up a small wingback to face her and sat in it. “Better?” he asked.

Violet nodded, her heart warming at the gesture. She recalled the last time Olaf had offered his jacket to her: he had draped it so carefully over her shoulders to ensure that the night chill did not get to her. She was giddy with excitement then, and even now, her heart fluttered at the thought of Olaf caring about her enough to do something like that.

“Now,” Olaf began. He flipped open to the first page of dialogue and handed the script to Violet. “This will be the best play you have ever read in your entire life, Violet Baudelaire.”

Violet laughed and took the script. “Really?” she said sarcastically. “Even better than Tennessee Williams?” Olaf smirked and nodded. “Anton Chekov?”

“Absolutely.”

“William Shakespeare?”

“Will tremble in shame at my work,” Olaf added boastfully. He puffed out his chest and crossed his legs.

“Those are some pretty hefty claims,” Violet commented as she settled herself into the couch corner.

“Ones that you will find are completely true.” Olaf gestured to the play. “Go ahead, Miss Baudelaire.”

Violet began to read, and Olaf actually found himself nervous. He hoped that she would like his play, but that was not something he had ever gone through before. At any pitch regarding any of Al Funcoot’s plays, he walked in with all the confidence in the world, absolutely sure of himself and his ability. Now, as he watched the 14-year-old girl read his work, he was not so confident in himself. He wanted her to like it. He _needed_ her to like it.

To take his mind off the tension, Olaf reached over to his counter and grabbed the script for a different play he had submitted for approval. He flipped through the pages, and with a pencil, he marked beats and potential actions for the actors to use.

Violet suddenly cleared her throat and asked in a small voice, “Is there any more?”

Olaf looked up. “What?”

“Of the play. Is there any more? It stops at the end of Act II,” she replied.

“The last act is still a work in progress. I’m just not sure where to take it,” Olaf said. He placed his script to the side. “Well? What did you think?”

Violet grinned. “I think it’s obvious! I wanted to read to the end. Arthur reminds me of you.”

Olaf rolled his eyes and gestured at himself. “He is the main character, after all.”

“Of course,” Violet replied. “And Rose is so sweet to him. I loved their dynamic and relationship, and I loved Rose’s character, but she seemed rather familiar.”

“I don’t think I made her a Mary Jane or Sue or whatever,” Olaf added.

“A 'Mary Sue?' No, I don’t think so either. Are there character descriptions?” Violet began to flip through the pages.

“Yes, but—“ Olaf started, his hand slowly reaching out to take back the script.

Violet landed on the second page. “Here they are.” She placed her finger on the paper and ran it down the list of characters.

“It’s not finished yet—“ Olaf tried to interject.

“Ah, Rose. ‘Rose is a lovely, intelligent young girl whose brilliance is revered by everyone she meets. She has younger siblings, a brother and  sister,’” Violet briefly paused but continued. “‘Who are away at boarding school. She and Arthur’s friendship strengthen, but she is oblivious to the fact that Arthur loves her…’” Violet’s eyes were glued to the page as her brows furrowed in confusion.

Olaf inwardly kicked himself. He had meant to write a different character biography but forgot and folded back the page so that Violet would not see.

Violet was silent for a long time as she read and reread the description again and again. Olaf was sure that his heart was going to give out in anticipation of what she would say. At that moment, he wished that he were literally anywhere in the world but in that dressing room.

“Am…” Violet’s voice came out like the coo of a dove. “Am I Rose?” she asked, her big beautiful eyes looking up at Olaf.

Olaf could either lie and say it was a coincidence or tell her the truth. He wanted to lie, but somehow, he could not. He did not want to lie to Violet. Not ever.

“Yes,” he answered.

“And, are you…Arthur?” she followed up.

Olaf swallowed thickly, trying to remain as expressionless as he could. “Yes,” he admitted.

Violet did not know whether to feel flattered or weird or sick. She could not think at all. The description of Rose’s character repeated over and over in her head. Was that what Olaf really thought about her? That her intelligence should be celebrated and that he… _loved_ her? Wasn’t that what she wanted? Violet was not used to having feelings reciprocated, but now, in the least expected place, she found a mutual attraction.

Olaf shut his eyes. This was it. In a moment, Violet would run out of the room, screaming and calling for Monty to bring her home. She would never want to see Olaf again. He was nothing but a villainous monster who had caused his own downfall. “Please,” he said quietly. “Say something.”

Violet examined his face, and his eyes opened to meet hers. His shiny eyes were wet, and his face was twisted in regret.

“Anything,” Olaf added.

In very calculated moves, Violet placed the script next to her on the couch. She stood gingerly and walked over to Olaf, her eyes still meeting his even as she stood just a little taller than he sat.

“Oh, Violet,” Olaf whispered. “Please, I’m sorry.” He swallowed again, guilt ravaging his insides. “Forgive me.”

Violet watched as the man tormented himself, but she still said nothing. As if some supernatural being were controlling her, she turned and sat down on Olaf’s knee. She slowly brought her arms up and around Olaf’s neck.

“Violet, my dear, what are you doing?” Olaf murmured.

Violet glanced at Olaf’s lips and then kissed him fervently.

It was the most wonderful, exhilarating kiss that Violet had ever experienced. She pressed her lips further against Olaf’s, desperately wanting to feel more of him.

After a second of shock sparking through him, Olaf found himself returning Violet’s kiss. Her lips were everything he had ever wanted in the world. They were soft and sweet, and he could feel her innocence being stripped away the longer they prolonged the kiss.

“Wait, wait,” Violet said muffled. Alarm bells were blaring in her head. They broke the kiss..

“What did I do?” Olaf asked her.

Violet shook her head. “Nothing. You didn’t—“ She stepped backward. “It was me. It was my fault. I’m…”

“Violet, no, it wasn’t.” Olaf stood up, once again towering above Violet.

“No, it’s my fault.” She looked up at Olaf, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m—I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Violet, please!” Olaf said as Violet threw off the jacket and ran out of his dressing room. It took Olaf a few seconds before he began to follow her out. He finally found Violet in the lobby next to the hook-handed man, who was on the phone.

“Yes, sir. She’s just sick, that’s all. It was not a problem at all. She’ll be waiting. Good-bye, Dr. Montgomery,” the hook-handed man hung up the phone behind the will-call desk. “Violet’s told me that she got sick.” He frowned sympathetically.

“Oh, yes. Yes, she did,” Olaf said, looking at Violet. She lowered her head and sniffed. He was fairly shocked that she had not told his colleague or Monty about what happened with him, so he breathed a sigh of relief, hoping he would at least get a bit of reprieve before they inevitably found out.

“Dr. Montgomery says he’ll be here in a few minutes to pick her up,” the hook-handed man added. “I’ll wait with her, Boss, if you’re busy.”

Olaf glanced again at Violet, who looked at him with sad doe eyes. He nodded. “Yes, thank you, Hooky.” He cleared his throat. “Feel better, Violet.” He turned to leave.

Violet and the hook-handed man sat in silence until Uncle Monty came into the theatre lobby and ushered her out.

Back at Uncle Monty’s house, he had her put on her pajamas and get in bed, where she cried silently until she fell asleep.

 

 

The following morning, it was still raining. Violet awoke to the sound of the rain against her window and she sighed. It was supposed to be a day where she went into the city to work on her invention, but after yesterday, Violet found that she could not go in. She was absolutely mortified with her behavior. She kissed a man. An adult man, when she was no more than a child. He could get into serious trouble if anyone found out, and it would all be “Poor Violet” and “What an awful man, preying on dear, sweet, innocent Violet.” It should be _her_ in trouble.

Violet pulled her covers up underneath her chin. She could imagine, later that afternoon, Olaf standing in the theatre lobby, waiting for her to arrive. _A useless gesture_ , Violet thought. She could not see herself going back in the foreseeable future.

There was a soft knocking at Violet’s door. “Come in,” she called.

Uncle Monty opened the door and poked his head in. “Violet?”

“Hi, Uncle Monty,” she greeted sluggishly.

Uncle Monty came closer, revealing a bowl and spoon in his hand. “How are you feeling this morning? Any better from yesterday?”

Violet shrugged. “About the same. Still not feeling very well,” she replied.

Uncle Monty sighed empathetically. “I’m so very sorry. I made some oatmeal for you. It will be good on your stomach. You don’t have to eat it all. Just get a little bit down.” He held out the bowl for Violet to take.

She sat up and took the bowl. “Thank you.”

Uncle Monty smiled and glanced around her room. “It looks like you’re settling in.”

“Yes, I am,” Violet affirmed between bites.

“Oh, you found my old rotary!” Monty approached Violet’s desk after seeing the phone.

With a bit of a panic, Violet wondered if she had left out her notebook with Olaf’s number, but she remembered that it was on her bookshelf where she had left it yesterday. “I found it and I fixed it up. It should be working again,” Violet replied.

Uncle Monty turned and beamed at the teen. “You are such a clever girl, Violet, you know that?”

Violet’s heart wrenched at Monty’s use of Olaf’s pet name for her. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

There was a slight pause in the conversation before Uncle Monty asked, “Is it all right if I give Count Olaf a call and tell him you won’t be coming in today?” Violet nodded. “All right. I’ll wait until after I get your brother and sister some breakfast.” Uncle Monty then took his leave and closed her bedroom door behind him.

When Violet finished her oatmeal, she placed the dish on her bedstand and slid back down underneath the covers.

Was she being rude to Olaf by leaving so suddenly and then not showing up? He knew that she was not sick, so was she just being mean by avoiding him? No, she was doing it for his own good. She had done something inappropriate. She was in the wrong.

Nevertheless, Violet thought back on the kiss. It was a beautiful kiss at the moment. She had kissed a boy or two in elementary school in jest, but when she kissed Olaf, there was no joking about it. Olaf’s lips had pressed into hers so ardently; Violet then realized that he had kissed back.

Had Olaf been just as hungry for her kiss as she had been for his? Did he want it? Had he… _enjoyed_ it?

This startling revelation hit Violet like a ton of bricks. She tended to overthink everything, and her kiss with Olaf was no different. She had run out on him, and that probably made him feel awful about everything he had done. Violet had thought she was reading too into his gestures, when she was actually understanding them perfectly all along.

Violet sat up. She had to call him. She had to call and tell him that it was stupid of her to run off like she did when it was nothing either of them had done. But what if he did not answer? What if he was angry with her and never wanted to speak to her again?

A few knocks sounded at her bedroom door. “Yes?” she called.

Uncle Monty poked his head into the room. “I called Count Olaf and told him what was going on, and he wants to speak to you,” Uncle Monty said quickly.

Violet blinked. This was more than coincidence. The universe was practically screaming at her to explain herself to Olaf. “Oh, all right. I’ll pick up the line,” she said as she got out of bed.

“I’ll be in the Reptile Room with Klaus, if you need me,” Uncle Monty said. He smiled and shut her door to go downstairs.

Violet grinned. She could talk about last night without the fear of them picking up. There was not a phone in the Reptile Room. She went to her desk and picked up the phone. “Count Olaf?” she said into the receiver.

“Oh, Violet! I…wasn’t sure you’d answer.” He paused. “About yesterday…”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk about, too,” Violet interjected. She heard Olaf sigh.

“If it’s what you truly want, we can forget everything that happened yesterday. Or you can just stop coming to the theatre if you never wanted to see me again,” he said.

Violet smiled, her voice bright. “No, that’s the thing. I wanted to say that I shouldn’t have run off like I did. I was overthinking everything and I thought that it was my fault.”

“Oh, my clever girl, it could never be your fault.”

Violet could practically see Olaf’s melancholy smile as he called her his pet name for her. “The thing is…” Violet sighed heavily. “I—“ she stopped. She gathered all of her courage and shut her eyes. “I think I like you, Count Olaf.” Violet swallowed.

“Violet…” Olaf said quietly.

Violet blushed and smiled giddily. “In fact, I think I might actually… _love_ you…”

Olaf paused for a long time but finally spoke. “Will you come tomorrow? To the theatre?” he asked.

Violet’s heart dropped to hear him change the subject. “Most likely. I _am_ feeling much better, you know,” Violet smirked.

“Who knew you were quite the actor?” Olaf chuckled.

“I guess I learned from the best.”

“See you tomorrow, dear girl,” Olaf said. “And Violet?”

“Yes?”

“I think I might return your affections, clever little girl,” he said gently.

Violet bid farewell to the actor and hung up. She smiled to herself. She could not wait until tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "A Series of Unfortunate Events." The ASOUE universe belongs solely to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> Well, looky here! Finally! I felt like I've dragged you guys along enough. Smut and plot twists are coming!!
> 
> Leave a kudos or a comment! I love talking with all of you!


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